


An Acceptably Wrinkled Timeline

by Arnediad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cussing, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Past Major Character Death?, Possible Angst (Probably Angst) Can't avoid it, Possibly some OC pairings at times, Pre-Slash-Slash, Sexual elements, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Time Travel Fix-It, Warnings May Change, We are not bashing Lily here, Weekend Updates, author is occasionally grammatically potato'ed, horribly slow burn, we are treating her gently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 94,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnediad/pseuds/Arnediad
Summary: Sirius Black is dead.Mostly, anyway.On the brink of passing on, he is visited by a friend of Harry's from the future, who offers to send him back in time to make things right. Can the most brash and reckless member of the Marauders right what's gone wrong? Or will he only succeed in making things so much worse? Moreover, will he be able to rebuild the bridges he's already burnt...or are there some friendships that are simply over long before their time?
Relationships: Beginning James/Lily, Eventual Sirius Black/James Potter and Remus/Lily, Sirius Black/James Potter
Comments: 219
Kudos: 386





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *Title Credit to the Time Quintent
> 
> *notes on pairing changes below

Death-he concluded-was like a dinner party that never ended.

Shifting his… _form_ on an increasingly uncomfortable chintz, Sirius Black reflected that if he knew he was going to spend the rest of eternity at a family function, he’d have tried a lot harder to stay alive. That’s what it was, really...a reunion of such flamboyant magnitude it would’ve made even his dear dead Mum tremble with apprehension. Walburga was here, of course, he’d barely escaped her throwing Bellatrix at him again...but it was hard to alarm someone who’d already kicked it. Someone whose corporeal essence hadn’t quite fully coagulated was murmuring in his ear...but he had a sneaking suspicion it was Moody. He kept getting flashes of that electric blue optical piece, and there was no missing those scars. The idea that he was dead was disheartening...as it meant that the war had begun to touch those who he’d previously thought impervious. Remus could be dead and he’d never know it, he wasn’t high enough-(or low enough, depending how you looked at)-on the tier to get into pure-blood Receptions, lucky bastard.

It was dumb luck that he’d landed here, really. The first time his vision cleared enough to allow him to look around he’d had an intense urge to vomit. There ought to have been an undead law that allowed only four Blacks to gather together at one time. From what he’d been able to keep track of, there was up-score of a hundred and he’d been repeatedly assured that this was a _small reception_. He’d also gathered that this was somehow about him, but it was stupidly difficult to keep track of time there, though he really only felt as if he’d been dead a few hours. There were people who had tried to speak to him, but he hadn’t mastered talking without his mouth yet...and he was distinctly aware of the fact that if he got up...he’d fall over or explode into some disgusting ghostly mess that he’d be forced to clean up.

No, being dead wasn’t _anything_ like he’d expected it to be.

Moody was floating off in the direction of some questionable-looking bowls of punch, though whether it was out of his own volition or not remained unclear. Come to think of it, Sirius’d not seen any sign of James either, but it didn’t particularly surprise him. He was beginning to think that this was truly a _‘reception’_. Everyone around him was acknowledging his untimely descent into the afterlife, but nothing about where he was resonated with him as familiar. He had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling that he was running out of time, though for what, he couldn’t say...and the more he considered it the more it ate at him.

He hadn’t been ready to die.

Any sorry sod who declared themselves _‘ready to die’_ hadn’t experienced life quite like Sirius Black. He hadn’t been done smoking fags or drinking cheap whisky-(mind you, not so cheap since his confinement to Grimmauld Place)-; he wasn’t done chasing birds and listening to Remus natter on about how he’d be the death of him. And Harry...-! Sirius tried and failed to ignore the pang of guilt suffused agony that lanced through his chest at the thought of his now Godfatherless godson. He hadn’t been done spending time with Harry. Casting a despairing glance around the now almost unbearably crowded room, he was bitterly conscious of the fact that even if James _could_ be there, he wasn’t entirely sure he _would_. He’d been careless with his life after Azkaban. Churlish, ungrateful even. It was hard to explain to someone that spending his days locked away in his childhood home was somehow worse than being in the middle of the ocean surrounded by Dementors.

His parents had done their damnedest to turn him into a ‘perfect pureblood’ before tossing him on the streets. As firstborn, he was expected to uphold some mannerism of image, and in his first years at Hogwarts, he was distinctly ashamed of the fact that he’d remained arrogant and somewhat aloof. He’d always told Harry he and James had simply ‘fallen in’ together, and that was somewhat true. What he _hadn’t_ told Harry was that he’d hand-picked James out of the rest of their fellow Gryffindors because he was pureblood and his family was of decent social standing. He’d have had more choices if he’d been sorted into Slytherin, of course, but that wasn’t to be his lot. James’ mischievous, ever-positive nature had grown on him. Slowly at first, but by the end of their second year...Sirius could count himself proud to be his friend; and a friend to the rest of the Maurauders. A year after that and you’d never have guessed that the quartet’s unruliest, most flirtatious and-inSirius’ humble opinion-most handsome member was once uptight, somewhat snobbish, and overly concerned with blood status.

If he were honest with himself, he’d been careless about his entire life.

By the time they graduated James had grown up and was well into his relationship with Lily. They tolerated Sirius popping over for dinner every once in a while, but it soon became clear that he was expected to ‘settle down’ soon as well. And he _missed_ James...missed him enough that sometimes he wondered if he’d done the right thing...stepping back, keeping his mouth shut. Peter didn’t change much, but he didn’t live near them, and Sirius was ashamed to admit that they’d not so much lost contact with him as they’d ignored him completely. He’d received countless letters from him that first summer, and one of his most prominent memories was lying on his poor excuse for a bed totally hammered, staring at the stack of envelopes with an ache in his chest that told him he was a terrible, terrible friend. Remus struggled with his lycanthropy from the minute he stepped out of Hogwarts until the day Sirius fell through the veil. By fall of 1978, Sirius rarely heard from him by owl, and saw him even less. Remus was always _‘studying’_ or picking up a rag-tag low end job to earn just enough Muggle money to take him to his next sordid destination. He stopped in on Christmas, and he never missed Harry’s birthday, but Sirius knew he was pursuing the secrets of lycanthropy; known and unknown.

He’d stopped trying to tell Moony to ‘think positively’ about his ‘furry little problem’ when he’d lured Snape to the Whomping Willow. As far as he was concerned he had lost that privilege, permanently. Years after the event, the monstrosity of his betrayal still lurked behind Lupin’s eyes...and he could not, in good conscience, dissuade him from finding a solution for something he’d treated so frivolously. Their friendship had never fully recovered, and it was this, more than anything else, that haunted him during his stay in Azkaban. James’ and Lily’s deaths were a grindstone around his neck, but the fact that a member of the Maurauders was still alive and had made no attempt to reach out to him. was crushing. It showed him how little faith Remus had had in him to begin with, and it bloody _hurt._

Bellatrix was shooting him increasingly hateful glances.

Sirius had never figured out why they’d gone there separate ways when they were out of Hogwarts. Maybe it was because they’d slowly grown apart as James’ obsession with Evans grew, or maybe it was because Sirius had always counted on James to pull him back from the edge like he had so many times during their years at Hogwarts. Maybe it was because Remus always fussed over him like he was a mangy stray with some sort of mental affectation that excused him from everything he did.

Everything except attempted murder, that is.

No, Sirius Orion Black had lived like he died; stupidly, recklessly, and without much thought to how his actions would affect those who cared about him. To make matters worse, he’d died by falling through a bloody curtain. Somewhere, in a place far removed from the permeability of mortality, the Fates had to be laughing their heads off. If he concentrated hard enough, he could vaguely remember the small moments between the time Bellatrix had hit him...and when he’d fallen. He could remember Harry’s eyes widening in hopeful disbelief as his Godfather fell through a seemingly empty archway...surely expecting him to hop right back up on the opposite side. His memory brought forth not one howl of agony, but two; one that was Harry’s, and one that was familiar but so achingly distant that he couldn’t grasp the identity behind it. He never saw his life flashing before his eyes, but he’d never expected to. He’d known long before his death that all of that was bullocks anyway.

Azkaban was worse than death.

A younger, more arrogant version of himself might have scoffed at the concept of _anything_ being worse than meeting your untimely demise, but he now knew this to be untrue. He’d spent year upon year lost in the desperate memories of a man he barely remembered...a man he’d never truly reclaimed even after escaping. As the Dementors siphoned his will to live, he was forced to relive the recollections of the things he had come to regret more and more. Each day, sometimes twice a day, a happy memory was stolen from him. Sirius had reflected-somewhat bitterly-that he was lucky to have been so happy at Hogwarts. He’d been surrounded by friends, and kept busy and entertained with snogging girls and pulling pranks. The Dementors took a lot of joy from him...but no matter how hard they tried, he always had more. He had James and Remus, Lily and the beautiful Delilah Miggs with the magnificent knockers...hell, he even had good memories of _Peter_ , the double-crossing arsemonger. No, Azkaban needed to have tried a lot harder if they wanted to push him into despair; otherwise, he wouldn’t have had the motivation to escape upon seeing that Prophet article.

Harry’s life had taken precedence after that...and in his brief few gasps for freedom, he’d felt some semblance of hope for his future. Looking back, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d intended to do with the future of his Godson resting on his shoulders, but in some ways, he was grateful it never came to that. Fifth year had brought about a change in the Boy-Who-Lived that even he had not always been able to fathom. Harry was angry and bitter...traits he often saw reflected in himself as he roamed the halls of Grimmauld place. Both of them placed much of the blame on Dumbledore and his terrible affinity for keeping life-threatening secrets, but the reality was that each of them had looked far too much inwards during that time....and neither of them had truly done much to discourage the other.

_**‘You’re running out of time...’** _

He’d never counted himself one to hear voices.

Casting his gaze around the room, Sirius was surprised to find it mostly empty. Granted, there wasn’t much love lost between arrival and departure. It was still strange to find himself suddenly and inexplicably alone. The room’s essence had taken on a more solid appearance, but it had grown smaller and now appeared to be a sort of antechamber with a single door straight ahead leading to parts unknown. He was sitting on a plain workbench...the long, hard type you might see at a hastily gathered public venue in the country. He didn’t appear to be wearing anything, but this didn’t alarm him as much as he supposed it should. Nakedness was apparently a non-issue in the afterlife, that was something Sirius could appreciate. The only thing that really bothered him was the obvious lack of his wand...but he’d never particularly liked the one he’d gotten after his escape. Nicked wands didn’t tend to agree with their captors...no matter their intentions. The walls around him were prismatic, and he couldn’t focus on one for long before his eyes began to hurt and he was forced to look away. They gave off the sense of being incredibly powerful and yet somehow semipermanent...as if this room was designed specifically for him...and no other would come after.

“You’re running out of time!”

There was a girl in front of him...about Harry’s age he supposed, with long flax-colored hair that rippled to her waist, and funny radish-shaped earrings. Her eyes were the color of silver sickles; airy, but with an intensity to them that gave Sirius the impression she was staring into his very soul. Her clothes were nondescript and not altogether ‘present’...if such a description were even possible. She wasn’t indecent...but her torso was ‘fuzzy’; as if she was projecting from a different plane and couldn’t be bothered to straighten out all the details.

_“Are you dead?”_

His voice sounded distant, even to his own ears; as if he was speaking across a massive distance; where only the faintest echoes of vocalization could possibly reach someone. The girl tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as if listening intently. He realized-with a jolt of bitterness-that he was indeed dead; and it was very likely the young lady in front of him was a seer attempting to reach him. Strange...to see her so close, and yet acknowledge that she was eons away...out of this time and space.

“I’m not” she replied gently. “But you are. And if you’re not careful, you’ll be dead forever.”

Sirius smirked, struck by the still-apparent vein of optimism in her tone.

_“I...didn’t know I had a choice.”_

This time, it appeared to take her longer to decipher what he’d said, and when she did she looked sympathetic.

“You fell into the Veil...a gateway between the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead. It’s a one-way trip...and you weren’t given a choice...you never committed the crime you were accused of. Even the Fates aren’t that cruel...and Time knows when its fabric has been ripped asunder for the sake of an evil deed. Tom Riddle thinks he has trumped the ravages of death...but he couldn’t be further from the truth.” She gestured to the door behind her. “That door leads to the summer of 1978...is there anything you’d like to change about that time?”

He gaped.

When looking back on that moment, Sirius wouldn’t have been surprised if his jaw literally hit the floor. Because was she _kidding?!_ There were a million things he wanted to change about that time! He could save James and Lily, and Harry would have his parents! He wouldn’t be guilty of a crime he never committed, and he’d have a chance to talk to Remus again, and maybe even stop Peter from making such god-awful choices... He might even be able to convince Dumbledore that moving the Potters from Godric’s Hollow was a better idea, and that they’d be safer somewhere else. Then, abruptly, the wind was knocked out of him....because this was not possible. No one came back from the dead decades previous and prevented major disasters. No one got to see their friends again-their _dead friends_ -and put them back into the lives they’d left like it was absolutely nothing. No one got a second chance.

_‘You’re having me on’_ he said bitterly. _‘I don’t remember you, but you’ve got to be a hallucination. That’s what happens when you die, right? You hallucinate?”_

She smiled, and it was sad but at the same time understanding.

“I’m not a hallucination...I’m...well, sometimes I don’t even know what I am. I get made fun of for it a lot, actually. But Harry misses you so much, and, well, he’s not the only one who misses you. I wanted to help, to do something.” Her brow furrowed. “But you’ve got to go through that door, or you won’t get another chance.” Something flickered abruptly at the corner of her ‘projection’; a flash of brilliant red light that seemed to creep upwards and encompass her entire being. Silver eyes widened, and Sirius thought he detected a trace of fear. “I’ve got to go, but please, consider it. I understand if you want to stay...but there’s so much you can change-!”

-He was alone again.

The walls around him seemed to have encroached upon his space as they were speaking, and the door that had been directly in front of him was suddenly much further away. Scrambling to his feet, Sirius stumbled as his not-quite ephemeral body attempted to find equilibrium. Biting his lip, he considered his options. Eternal peace, no matter how much his rebellious spirit balked at the idea, was undeniably attractive. He’d spent the last years of his life incredibly unhappy, and he had no idea what his mental condition would be should he decide to take the girl up on her offer. That being said, he wasn’t particularly sure how _old_ he’d be either. It would be incredibly hard to explain why he was a thirty-six year-old train wreck with prison tattoos if he arrived in the state he’d left. Still, it would be worth it if he could save his best mate...damn his own physicality. How could he look Harry in the eyes in fifty or so years with the knowledge that he’d had the opportunity to go back and save his Mum and Dad?

That settled it once and for all.

After going to pat down his pockets-and subsequently realizing he hadn’t any-he made a slow but determined path towards the door. Each step seemed weigh him down more and more, and it was with a jolt of dread that he realized that he really didn’t have all that much time. Whatever this space was, it was impermanent to either sphere of existence; Living or Dead, and his ‘middle ground’ was about to dissolve. The 'walls’-indiscernible as they were-appeared to be closing in on themselves, giving off the impression of being in a triangulated prism...with the entryway up ahead his only concrete grounding point. There was a far away sound that gave the impression of something massive collapsing in on itself; like the death of a behemoth in the depths of the sea, or the wailing howl of a quasar on the edges of space. He was suddenly indescribably cold, and felt as if he was made of countless tiny sand particles...one wrong move, and he’d dissolve into a million pieces.

Up close, the door appeared to be made of three foot-long slabs of solid oak; shaved to a brilliant finish. There was a windowed lattice on top with colored, diamond-shaped panes; pumpkin, aquamarine, and pumpkin. The knocker was in the shape of a lion’s head and oddly familiar, the brass warm beneath his fingertips as he took hold of it. Three raps and the door swung open; a shadowy, but somewhat familiar shape taking form before him. Sirius took a deep breath and stepped forward; gasping as he appeared to sink through an invisible barrier that was somewhat aqueous, coming out the other side to stumble over a welcome mat and fall flat on his arse.

It was in this way that Sirius Black found himself sprawled on the Potter’s living room floor in the year 1978, with a bewildered James leaning over him and a concerned but perfectly healthy-looking Lily peering out from the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I'll be staying in this fandom for a while just because I relate to Sirius and his giant spiel of tragic bad decision with good intentionism right about now. So you've probably noticed the pairing change; yes, I know. But I can't do it, guys. I wouldn't be able to finish this if I kept the pairing. I am hardcore Prongsfoot. I have been converted to the dark side. I want to say that if you stick around for this revision I am not going to stomp all over the characters you love, I promise. I will treat them right, because believe it or not, I love them too. But yes this is happening, and no I'm not going to walk away from this. Updates every week.


	2. Begin Again...(and Again).

Lily was uncommonly good at Transfiguration. 

Blinking at the softly hooting owl figurine over the fireplace, Sirius attempted to swallow the suddenly indeterminably heavy thickness at the back of his throat. The house was just as he remembered it; pre-Harry, of course. Directly to the left of the front door was the kitchen, with a painfully quaint view of an abundance of lavender in the front yard. Lily had painted everything in there blue and yellow, with intricate floral stenciling that he’d always thought was a lot of fuss. Despite her fierce dissertation regarding the independent woman, Evans had made the kitchen very much her own. This was likely because the living room to the right was James’ space; decorated with his Quidditch trophies and a not-so-subtle furniture set in Gryffindor colors. Here and there, a vase of flowers attempted to offset the _’near suffocating masculinity’_ of the room, as Lily would put it; but to no avail. 

Directly before him was the foyer, with a wall mirror and a hall tree for shoes, coats, hats, and scarves. Sirius knew there was a small guest bedroom down the hall to the left and a washroom with an attached water closet to the right. The upstairs was identical in floor plan, but flipped; with the Master bathroom mimicking the living room in size with its own facilities and yet another guest room, slightly larger than the one downstairs, with an unattached w/c. Lily apparently had a bit of a personal potions lab in the basement, but neither he nor James had really ever bothered to investigate it thoroughly. Sirius was rarely in the back garden; as Lily had a terrible habit of making anyone who set foot there pick vegetables for the rest of the day. All in all, it was quaint...if you liked that sort of thing. A...not-so-time-traveled Sirius might have scoffed at the whole affair, but the unchanged and unsullied appearance of the place was bringing him very near to hysterics. 

In consideration of overall aesthetics, he was not naked...which was somewhat of a relief. The Universe had decided to dress him in nondescript Mugglewear. Sirius was distinctly aware of the fact that his hair was no longer lank and lifeless as it had been when he escaped Azkaban; he could feel soft, feathery strands brushing the back of his neck and tickling his earlobes. He was also conscious of his vision being much better, though he hadn’t noticed its slow degradation until now. The Sirius who had fallen through the Veil had been broken and in pain...he felt no such pain now. Glancing downwards, he saw smooth, youthful skin free of its customary tattoos and scars. Barely holding himself together, he half-stumbled, half-crawled to pull himself up on the bureau before the wall mirror...a sob escaping his lips as he saw what was before him. It was Sirius Black; of that there was no doubt, but it was a _young_ Sirius Black...with smooth, raven-colored hair, piercing grey eyes and lips that had kissed perhaps too many women by that time in his existence. 

“You didn’t break your bloody face, if that’s what you’re blubbering about.” 

He jumped as James’ irritated voice floated over to him from the still-open front door. 

“Crying at his reflection?” Lily said dryly, wiping her hands with a dishtowel. “Doesn’t really surprise me.” 

“Sod off Evans” Sirius managed to croak. “I can’t help it if I’m fucking beautiful.” 

“If you can call a pestilence beautiful” was the quicksilver retort. “What d’you want anyway? I thought you were running about Muggle London shagging strays.” 

He bit his lip, thinking furiously. This was around the time James and Lily had just moved in together, which meant he’d been a jealous, moody mess with vagrant tendencies. He didn’t remember much of August through September, which was probably for the best. He _did_ recall having a massive row with James perhaps a month previously, one that he’d barely managed to make up for before stumbling over the threshold. He’d been positive that his best mate was moving out of the bachelor department far too fast, and that his upcoming marriage surely spelled doom for the entirety of England. The day after he’d voiced his opinion to James, Lily had showed up on his doorstep for apparently no other purpose than to hex him six ways to Sunday. It took him two weeks to recover and two more to gather his humility and apologize. 

“Thought I needed to make sure you hadn’t turned Prongsy here into a tea cozy. You lot saw each other in school but you’ve never _lived_ with each other before.” 

“Stopping the proverbial Armageddon, I see” Lily said drily, rolling her eyes and disappearing back into the kitchen. “James, take your mongrel to the living room. If you leave him in the foyer he’ll put me off my cooking.” 

“C’mon mate” James chuckled, he turned and led them through a set of sliding glass doors into the living room, gesturing for Sirius to shut the door behind him. Upon entering, a giant ball of brown feathers hooted indignantly in the corner for a few seconds before falling back into a disgruntled slumber. “Don’t mind Wilouby, he’s so old I wish Lily’d put him out of his misery but she’s too fond of him. I’d do it, mind you, but I think she’d kill me.”

The laugh that forced its way past his lips sounded strangled and foreign. Even James, who was practically oblivious to the emotional quirks of others, gave him a strange and slightly worried look. Without speaking, he gestured for Sirius to sit down and made his way to the dusty liquor cabinet; pulling a tiny vial out of a dark corner and tossing it to the other man who caught it purely by reflex. Sirius raised an eyebrow at the label and gave James an incredulous look. 

“Pepperup?” he asked dryly. “I’d do better with some of that Schletter’s Fine I see on the top shelf.” 

Closing the cabinet, his friend paused and folded his arms before coming to sit down directly opposite him. Dark eyes swept across him for a moment, and Sirius Occluded automatically; a reflex from living with Walburga Black for so many horrible years. 

“Stop it” James snapped, and he startled slightly. His friend leaned back with a sigh. “I’m not...doing that rubbish to you. Thought you’d gotten over that by now.” Sirius flushed and tossed back the Pepperup to prevent himself from answering. It _did_ help; some of the residual cloudiness in his mind cleared and the numbness that lingered at his fingers and toes was replaced with a feeling of warmth. “I don’t know where you’ve been” the youngest Potter continued. “But you look like you’ve died and come back worse for wear. M’not giving you any alcohol until I’ve got at least some inkling of where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, how long you’re going to stay, and where you’re going to go when you leave.”

Sirius pulled a face.

“You applying to be my new Mum?”

James rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up Padfoot, you know as well as I do that you’re not holding it together. The last time you showed up here you were covered head to toe in blood and you couldn’t remember where you’d been or how you were practically drawn and quartered. It’s the only reason we’ve started talking again. I’ve got my own life to live but I’ve got to worry about my best mate who has absolutely no qualms about having no bloody life to speak of-”

“-Fine.”

In lieu of having James go off on a tirade, Sirius had resigned himself to acquiescence more than once in the past. His friend had never been one for long-windedness, but by the end of seventh year he’d taken his responsibilities as Head Boy perhaps too seriously and was perfectly fine with ranting over the responsibilities of any well-meaning witch or wizard. It’d gotten so bad that Sirius had spelled James’ teddy bear to shout off various Ministry-Issued manuals in the dead of night just to get some well-earned justice. 

In response to his declaration, the bespectacled man mouthed wordlessly before raising an eyebrow. 

“I should really make you take Veritaserum.” Sirius stiffened and James chuckled, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Don’t worry! I’m not that sadistic, but if you gloss over anything I’ll know, I spent seven disturbing years rooming with you.”

“The fact that you have Veritaserum in your bloody house is far more disturbing than having to room with me for some odd years” he muttered. 

“Touche” James aceded, making a great show of getting comfortable. “But you’re going to have to take up with Lily on that one, she’s the one who brews it.”

Sirius shuddered.

“No thanks.” His friend didn’t deign to reply but looked at him expectantly and he sighed. “If you really have to know, I’ve been exactly where you said I’ve been; shagging birds and drinking myself senseless every night. I pick up odd jobs, sometimes they last...sometimes I forget to come in and I get fired. The blood was a nasty run-in with my cousin...I don’t think I need to name her. Got on her bad side, called her fat, paid for it.” 

“And your flat?”

Sirius frowned.

“What about it?”

“Lupin says he’s written to you and you never answer his letters. I assumed you weren’t staying there. That’s what I told him, anyhow.” James grimaced at the flush that had appeared on Sirius cheeks. “Bloody hell Sirius” he muttered, standing and crossing to the liquor cabinet again. This time, he came back with Ogden’s and tossed his back before he said anything else. “What’s this about, mate? I know you’re reckless, but you’re not _suicidal_.” 

“So I don’t keep in touch” Sirius snapped. “What of it? Maybe I’m busy, maybe I was _disowned_ and I need a bloody job to keep my flat. I’m not exactly rolling in galleons James! When I finish work I want to go to a pub, get wiped and fuck whatever girl tickles my fancy. I’m not worried about an odd letter from Moony who-by the way- _never_ visits, or the mountains of letters I get from Peter talking about his bored-up-the-arsehole Ministry job, I-”

-He stopped because James was smirking, a tell-tale sign he’d let something slip. 

“So you _know_ your mates are writing you, you even _read_ their letters, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to think subjectively about it” was the shrewd reply. 

Sirius downed his whiskey too fast, glaring as James idly flicked his wand; clearing his windpipe. 

“Fuck all” he muttered, dropping his head to his hands. “James, I don’t know. I’m fucked up, probably more than you realize, but I’m over it. I’ve got things I have to do and I don’t have a lot of time to do them.”

And that was as close to the truth as he was ever going to get. Sirius bitterly reflected that telling James about his miraculous time-travel could result in timeline changes he wasn’t prepared for and couldn’t rectify. He doubted he’d be given such an opportunity twice, and keeping the sequence of events leading up to that horrible Halloween night was paramount in ensuring it never happened. If he told James it would create a ripple effect that could screw everything up. James and Lily might opt not to have children at all, or they might wait until after the alloted dates in order to avoid lining up with the prophecy. And if that was the case, could the prophecy change? Or would Harry simply never be born at all, leaving the Dark Lord to reign eternal? Neither option was appealing, one because it would place things within a scope of time that Sirius was unfamiliar with, and the other because he didn’t fancy subjecting the world to never-ending terror and enslavement. Also, a world without Harry just seemed stupidly dim.

It was-ultimately-the loneliest task he’d ever been set to. Hopefully he could share it with someone someday, once it was all over....if he didn’t die in the process, but that was a long time away. A soft _‘meow’_ to the right of him drew him out of his thoughts, and he watched with bemusement as a handsome onyx cat hopped onto the couch next to him and studied his visage with giant yellow eyes.

“That’s Sigrid” James commented dryly. “She must like you, she doesn’t normally come out for guests.” 

“I didn’t know you’d got a cat” Sirius muttered, scratching the aforementioned feline behind the ears.

“Yes well, you haven’t been around much, have you?” He sighed when Sirius rolled his eyes. “I know there’s more to the story Pads, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.” 

The mumbled ‘thanks’ the former heir of the Black family offered in return was hoarse and distant. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and Sirius was once again reminded of how far apart they’d grown. After his release from Azkaban, he’d clung desperately to the happy memories he had of his mostly-deceased friends, when in truth those recollections were nothing but that...recollections; and for far longer than he’d been imprisoned. In reality, their quartet had started falling apart sometime during seventh year...and it’d been so painful to watch that Sirius had stubbornly ignored it, yet, at the same time he’d contributed to the rift. A small part of him was desperately angry at Lily for stealing James, and James resented Sirius for resenting him. Lupin had stepped up in a frankly heroic effort to fill his suddenly love-struck best-mate’s shoes; but Sirius had rejected him so fiercly he was shocked he and Remus ever spoke again. Peter was probably the least at fault out of all of them, but Sirius’d taken to taunting him when he had nothing better to do; particularly when he’d managed to sneak a bottle of Firewhiskey into the Tower so he could get shitfaced. 

Sirius stared mullishly at James, who had called Sigrid over to him and was rubbing her belly. He was so _young_ to be settled! It was bizarre to think that at the time of his death, Harry was only a few years younger than his father was now. For years, the two of them had talked about the adventures they’d have when they graduated; motorcycling across the country, bar crawling...eventually becoming Aurors when they’d done their fair share of debauchery. In all fairness, he should have seen it coming. Even when James wasn’t shouting his love for Lily Evans to the Heavens, he was still incessently pestering her every chance he got. It was _’written in the stars’_ as some Muggle women he’d perhaps spent one night too long with would say. 

“Mate, you’ve got to stop looking at me like I’ve kicked you.”

Sirius blinked. 

“Pardon?”

“You look like you do when you’re Padfoot and I won’t give you any bacon.” James’ expression was sickeningly sympathetic. “I...I’m sorry Sirius.”

Now _that_ he hadn’t been expecting.

“W-what?” 

“I guess we just sort of...fell apart” James muttered, looking away. The tips of his ears were a faint pink, an indication of his friend’s discomfort with what he was forcing himself to say. “And I was so bloody obsessed with ‘proving’ to Lils that I could be responsible and upright...even though she never asked me to. I just-I think-” He huffed exhasperatedly. “-I lost sight of what was important. You lot were always there for me and I just threw you to the side.” 

I wasn’t any better” Sirius muttered. “I was a jealous prick.”

“Yeah, you were” James agreed, grinning. “But that doesn’t excuse it, and it definitely doesn’t excuse that I did the same thing to Remus and Peter.” He shook his head. “In some ways, it was _worse_ for them because they never gave us any trouble about it.” 

“Maybe that’s why Mooney doesn’t visit” Sirius muttered. 

“Could very bloody well be” James replied, and if his voice wavered a little, neither acknowledged it. Another silence descended upon them, but this time it was less uncomfortable. A familiar hand reached out, touched his shoulder and Sirius told himself that the warmth that spread from it was platonic...and that his heart didn’t ache with an age-old hunger he promised he would never let himself feel. “Should I have Lily make up the guest room for you?” James asked at length. 

Sirius shook his head.

“No. I can’t stay.” He grinned and cocked his head. “Besides, she’ll put Bubotuber pus between the sheets and my manhood would never forgive me.” 

“What manhood?” James retorted, a sort of tentative half-smile forming on his lips. “Where will you go?”

Sirius sighed. 

“I guess I”ll Floo over to the flat” he muttered, standing up and placing his glass on the coffee table in front of him. “Someone’s got to answer all those bloody letters from Peter and I might as well write Mooney as well.” He raised an eyebrow at James’ apprehensive expression. “I’m not disappearing anymore, mate. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve got a lot to do.” 

His friend nodded, albeit a bit hesitantly. 

“Alright, keep in touch if you can. I...would really like if you were at the wedding, and if I don’t know where you are, I can’t tell you when it is.” 

Sirius ignored the knee-jerk irritation he felt at the mention of his friend’s nuptials. James saw him to the fire, though he still looked uncertain and a little bit miserable. 

“I’ll let you know” he reassured him. 

A promise was a promise, after all.

Still, as Sirius watched James’ face disappear into a blur of bright green flame and considered the possible course of his life over the next few years….

...he wasn’t sure if he could keep one...if any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Right, so this was the chapter where I discovered Prongsfoot and my heart expanded fifteen times its size which is actually a lot if you think about it. So we are back here embracing potential prongsfoot. Yes.


	3. Letters To A Friend (Who's Never There)

Padfoot,

I finally got your address from Prongs. Hard to believe you’re in Muggle London...how do you even manage it? Dad says it’s not so horrible but I agree with Mom; it’s got to be strange. Speaking of strange, can you believe we’re not coming back to Hogwarts next year? It almost feels...well.. **wrong** to me. You know how rubbish I am at getting used to new things. Mum’s got me set up to work in the DIMC, in the Magical Trading Standards Body. I **told** her I want to be an Auror but she says she won’t have me wasting my time training for something I”ll never qualify for. Bollocks if you ask me...do you think you could owl her and put in a good word for me? I don’t like this business about a Dark Lord I’m reading in the Prophet. Doesn’t sound like the Ministry’s taking it too seriously yet, but Dumbledore’s sent an owl looking for recruits for some ORder or other. I didn’t really understand it so I sent an owl off to look for Remus. He might know something. Speaking of Mooney, have you got any idea where he is? I’ve sent two owls so far and they usually come back with a reply, but it takes two weeks or more and here’s never a return address. Anyway, I had a moment but I’ve got to get to the MInistry. I’ve got an interview at two, Mum’ll never forgive me if I’m late. Hope you’re well.

Wormtail (P.P.)

_“‘The stories of the street are mine’, the many voices laugh.”_

Sirius,

I don’t have a lot of time right now, but I figured you ought to know I”m perefectly fine. James provided generously for me (as you know) and I find that despite the inconveniences of my position, I am managing quite well. Peter has owled me several times to ask my location and to be honest I don’t stay anywhere long. Adversly, I may be returning soon to hear what Dumbledore has to say about the Order. I hope you’ve given thought to Auror training. You can’t be a vagrant forever you know. James mentioned that you’re saving for a moterbike, I really wish you wouldn’t. There’s no sense in that rubbish...you’ll get yourself killed. Please take care of yourself, I’ve got to run.

Remus

_”The Cadillacs go creeping now through the night and poison gas.”_

Padfoot,

My last letter must have gotten lost. It doesn’t matter, there wasn’t anything important in it. I got that Bloody MInistry job. Mum’s thrilled...I’m bored to death. I never knew there were fifty-two methods for proper trade agreement. Did you know that France doesn’t acknowledge a sepecific Bulgarian liquor as marketable? There was a huge debate over it in the 1600s. Something about an attractive walock whose intestines melted through his abominal wall and onto the living room floor. To be fair, I’m pretty sure that was an assassination atttempt and nothing to do with Bulgaria but it’s banned anyway. There’s also a bridge over the Straits or Russia for any sorry sod trying to travel there on a broomstick. My boss is a right clod. He has a twenty-minimum report quota for new trainees and it goes up to fifty once you’re a senior exec. I don’t know how I’m going to survive here, I’m pants at remembering to finish anything. Remus always finished my essays if I couldn’t. Words were never my strongpoint, I haven’t heard from James in a long time, have you? I only get letters from Mooney and he’s always in a terrible rush. I wish he’d just let us help him on the Full, it seems like it’s taking a terrible toll on him. I got a letter from him dated the day after a Moon and his writing was all shaky and spidery. I know he doesn’t want our help but it sure seems like he needs it. Anyway, it’s half six and I”ve got to go in half an hour. I hope you’re alright.

Wormtail (P.P.)

_“And I lean from my window sill in this old hotel I chose.”_

Sirius,

I don’t know what the devil you’re playing at but Peter seems fair convinced you’ve offed yourself. He says he’s written to you twice and you’re not answering. I know you two weren’t close but you could at least manage to write a simple hello. I haven’t heard from you either but James insists your fine...though it’s about as hard to get ahold of him as it is you. Look, seventh year….it was bad for us...but we’re still friends. You know that if something’s bothering you you can talk to any of us, right? I’ll be back in town for the engagement party. Hopefully you’ll be there.

Remus

_“Yes one hand on my suicide, one hand on the rose.”_

Sirius,

I was sorry not to see you at the engagement party. James wouldn’t tell us why you weren’t there and every time we brought it up to Lily she went red in the face. I wish you’d been there, I’d have liked for you to meet Emma. She’s a good girl, though a bit older than me, I’ll admit. It wouldn’t be so hard for us to go on a date if she wasn’t my boss’s receptionist. Workplace rules and all that rubbish. It sounds like you’ve really been living on the edge...I hope you’re not falling _off_ the edge, like Remus seems to think you are. Mum’s not doing so well. Dad says it’ll pass but he’s worried this time...it’s not like the other times. We’re throwing a little party for her this upcoming Saturday, nothing big, just something to cheer her up. I would really like it if you were to come. Remus said he would but I”m not sure about James. You know how James gets around sick people who aren’t going to get better. Hope this finds you in good health.

Peter

_“I know you've heard it's over now and war must surely come.”_

You’re a right _fucking_ sod. 

-R

_“The cities they are broke in half and the middle men are gone.”_

To: Sirius Arcturus Black  
1678 Hemmington Way,  
New Westminster  
London, U.K. 

This letter is a notice of the death of Edith Velma Pettigrew, who passed on June 30th, 1978 at 10:45 P.M. You are formally invited to the memorial service, which will be held on Hogwarts grounds on July 3rd at 1pm. You are permitted to bring 1 guest and it is encouraged that attendees bring a covered dish. 

Sincerely,

Alain Pettigrew and Peter Pettigrew

_“But let me ask you one more time, O children of the dusk.”_

Sirius,

I wish I’d seen you at the funeral. Remus came, but I didn’t even get to talk to him...it was like he only showed up so he could say he was there. Dumbledore was there too, and he asked after you and James. I didn’t really know what to say. James RSVP’ed with some half-assed excuse...I wasn’t really surprised to not hear from you...not at this point. I..I hope you know Mum was really fond of you. Sometimes I think she liked you better than me...just because you’re so bloody good-looking. She left you her stupid silver cigarette case, Dad joked that no one else’d be able to pry that thing from her cold, dead fingers. I’d really like to hear from you just once, I could use a friend. Emma’s sweet and all, but she’s no Maurader. Sometimes I wish we could’ve stayed at school forever. 

P.P.

_“All these hunters who are shrieking now oh do they speak for us?”_

Sirius,  
I can’t make this long. Don’t come back to the house. Ever. It’s not the same. It’s...worse. Mum wants you dead and I don’t think Dad’ll try and talk her out of it this time. So just...stay wherever you are and don’t draw attention to yourself. I made a mistake. You were right. But it’s too late now.

R. 

_“And where do all these highways go, now that we are free?”_

Sirius,

I...I’m moving out of the country for a while. Emma wants to travel, and there’s nothing left for me here, really. I don’t mean to sound selfish when I say that, it’s just I feel like I’m waiting around for something that’ll never happen. When we were in school, we always had our quartet to turn to for help. Now...I feel like I”m waiting for the Mauraders to remember who they are...I spend my nights looking out the windows as if expecting to see one of you shoot over the rooftops on a broomstick. It’s...it’s pathetic really. We’ve graduated...and it seems like you’ve all moved on and I”m just stuck here wishing for something that’s been dead for months. Emma says it’ll be good for me to get out and see what’s out there. I”m starting to think she’s right. Dad seems disappointed I’ve dropped my job so soon, but he also seems to understand. I know you’ll probably never read this, but, if you could check up on my old man every once in a while, that would mean a lot. He pretends to do all right, but I know he misses Mum. If you ever want to meet up, or just send a letter really, you know to owl me.

Peter

_“Why are the armies marching still that were coming home to me?”_

There was a muted, somewhat pungent explosion as the magical grammophone next to him exploded. Peter’s letter floated to the ground admist a rain of ash as Sirius covered his face with his hands and exhaled shakily. For a moment, the grief and guilt threatened to overwhelm him as the reality of his existence came crashing down around his ears. There were more letters, of course. Piles and piles of them at his letterbox and down the chimmney. Most of them were from Peter….but it looked like the one he’d just read was the last one he’d sent. Sirius knew for a fact that Mr. Pettigrew would die approximately five months from now. Some whispered that it was dragonpox, but he knew it was grief. Mr. Lupin had died very similarly following the passing of Mrs. Lupin. After that, Peter had never been the same...though Sirius suspected the change in him had started long before his father’s demise. The proof of the Maurader’s abandonment of their weakest, smallest member was here, in this house; under piles and piles of parchment that grew more pleading and unhappy each time Sirius tore open another envelope. 

It made him want to burn the whole place to the ground.

Standing on unsteady legs, Sirius shuffled over to the ancient secretary Mrs. Potter had given to him the day he moved in. Yanking open the center drawer, he swept burnt candle stubs and cigarette butts to the side; not stopping until he’d procured an inkwell, quill, and parchment. He searched in vain for a stamp and wax but gave it up for a lost cause. There was a rustle of feathers and he startled, watching with mild surprise as his owl Themis blinked at him with large yellow eyes. 

“Still here, are you?” he muttered, smirking as a disgruntled hoot was the only answer he was dignified. Still scribbling with one hand, he fished around in another drawer for some very stale owl treats. Themis considered his offering briefly before coming to a decision and hopping down so Sirius could tie the letter to his leg. “Take this to Peter Pettigrew” he instructed. “I dunno where he is but you probably do. When you come back I’ll have one for you to send to Remus.”

His vision was obscured by black feathers as he leaned over to throw open a grimy window, watching as the owl soared towards the midnight moon before banking a sharp left. When there was no sign of Themis anywhere, Sirius shut the window with a sigh and stood so he could flop back down on the couch. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too late to right the wrongs he’d done...but only time would tell. A flick of the wrist incinerated the mountain of letters cluttering the flat...no use living in guilt if you were going to try and make things better. The grammophone shuddered back to life as his eyes drooped, the only sign he’d heard it a slight twitch of the brow as a shadow passed over the moon.

_“We are so small between the stars, so large against the sky,  
And lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: Stories of the Street, Leonard Cohen. I actually don't like his music ( sinful! I  
> know), but I love his lyrics without his singing or the instrumental so I suppose you  
> could say I'm a fan of the poet but not the musician. Honestly, I think this is the only  
> time I am going to use lyrics from a song in a fanfic chapter and if I ever do it again I  
> encourage you to remind me. I'd have liked to use one of my poems but this one was  
> kind of drilling into my head along with heart with no companion (I honestly think the  
> lyrics to that song might be some of the most beautiful poetry in existence).  
> A/N:This is a shorter chapter but I did want to grasp the letter sequence before moving  
> on into situations with other Marauders or characters within the story. I spent several  
> days agonizing over how the hell I was going to formulate this and I'm not 100%  
> satisfied with it yet but if I do anything else I'm going to go insane.


	4. I Want To Tell You [But I can't]

Righting habitual wrongs was easier said than done.

Sirius knew this of course, but it didn't make the reality of it any easier. Themis returned to him about three weeks later empty-taloned, but it didn't particularly surprise him. Peter would need time to gather his bearings. On a whim, he also sent a missive off to Dumbledore asking for information about the Order. A younger, more starstruck version of himself might have stormed the Headmaster's office and demanded recognition but Sirius had been around the mechanisms of great, and both good and terrible wizards for far too long to do anything so hasty. He didn't know how low the man would sink to gain his loyalty...or keep his silence, and Sirius owed him too great a debt for excusing him from the 'Willow Incident’ to push his luck. 

When it came to his letter to Remus, he agonized for days but couldn't come up with anything clever to say...and he doubted his estranged friend would take kindly to any attempts at flowery reconciliation. Instead, the parchment he sent off contained only the words ‘ _I'm sorry_ ’ and a request to meet at some point in the future. Remus was skittish of concrete times and dates, his condition keeping him from guaranteeing any kind of solid presence. It was infinitely better to allow him to stipulate the circumstances of their meeting. 

Per his friend’s feeble request, Sirius went to visit Mr. Pettigrew, who received him with a wariness that was both understandable and heartbreaking. He’d always known Peter’s father to be somewhat sickly, but this was different. The man before him with rheumy eyes and a wheezing cough was not the individual who’d picked up his son on the last day of school. Mrs. Pettigrew was the glue that held the family together, and it was clear that her husband was slowly but surely falling apart. He’d not been out in several weeks, and the letterbox was near to overflowing. Sirius spent several hours cleaning up the house with what few feeble cleansing spells he’d retained from listening to Hermione and Mrs.Weasley alike. The result wasn’t spotless, but it was homely and warm; Mr. Pettigrew practically burst into tears of gratitude...something that would have made him supremely uncomfortable. 

Later, they visited a local pub and ate dinner, though Sirius was careful to allow the man some space to catch up with his friends. It was agonizingly obvious how far a little bit of care and comfort could do for someone, and he was reminded yet again of how he’d unwittingly allowed for the degradation of those around him...simply by existing and doing nothing. In time, a relative of the Pettigrews offered to take the man to evening Mass and Sirius was more than happy to hand over responsibility, though not before he was robbed of paying the bill. Mr. Pettigrew thanked him profusely and implored him to come back whenever he liked. And even though the warmth of his deeds lingered, far colder was the terrible truth that he’d only been kind enough to take such action the second time around. 

He’d been over to see James and Lily several times, but by the weekend last it was clear his best friend knew something was shifty. Sirius may have been transported back into the body of a recently graduated teenager, but that didn’t mean his mind had done the same. He was slower to impulsivity than the Sirius of this time had been, and he was much more careful with his words...which wasn’t anything like him. Lily had-of course-praised his _sudden transformation_ with considerably less sarcasm than was common, but James was quiet and observant. He couldn’t count how many times he’d been asked if he was ‘alright’, and when he’d refused a third glass of Firewhiskey after sitting at the dinner table for two hours he was surprised that his fellow Gryffindor didn’t explode. Wisely, he refrained from informing either of them that he’d been to see Mr. Pettigrew, he rather suspected they might try to have him committed. 

That wasn’t to say there weren’t times when the ‘old Sirius’ desperately wanted to resurface. He was active by nature; and every bone in his newly-youthful body wanted to take advantage of its mobility. He’d forgotten what having a libido the size of a planet entailed, and it was incredibly difficult not to stray off the beaten path. Not to mention the fact that he was no longer plagued by the constant physical reminder of his time in Azkaban. You could rectify malnutrition, he had found, but you couldn’t erase it entirely. The aches from his time in prison had followed him until the day he’d died and now he was completely without them. It was exhilarating in a way that made him feel somewhat unstable. Then again, a lot of people would have probably said that Sirius Black had _always_ been unstable. 

He’d spent a considerable amount of time planning various courses of action to prevent the death of Harry’s parents, but each scenario he came up with had horrific consequences should he fail. He could remain Secret Keeper, but that didn’t change the fact that Voldemort would know about the Prophecy. Voldemort could choose to strike the Potters differently, or he could directly target Sirius instead. There was a time when he’d been constantly on the run from Death Eaters because of their suspicions of his responsibility to James and Lily. Azkaban had tortured him...slowly and insidiously, but he’d not been truly tortured since he left the Black residence some years before. There was no telling what time travel had done to his mind or what Voldemort would do should he manage to obtain the information of his time travel via Legilimency. A terrible sense of imminent danger had engulfed him with the realization that his foreknowledge of the future was possibly the greatest weapon the Dark Lord could possess. 

Sirius couldn’t afford to try and save Regulus.

The truth hurt, terribly, but he was fully aware of the entanglements of his younger brother. He’d tried to keep him safe at Hogwarts...as safe as a teenage boy possibly could when they were separated not only by House but by family. The younger Black sibling had grown to hate him for the amount of responsibility heaped upon him in the wake of his brother’s failure. Walburga was tight-fisted with Regulus in a way Sirius could only consider in the blackest of nightmares. He’d fallen in quickly with the Slytherin crowd and there was nothing he could do about it without putting both of them in danger. Sirius couldn’t defend him, because then it would have looked like Regulus was accepting shelter from a blood traitor...yet he couldn’t fully ignore him because up until a certain point, it was obvious his brother wanted a way out and couldn’t understand why Sirius wouldn’t give it to him. It was impossible to explain to your younger sibling that aiding him in any way while he was still underage could possibly mean both of their deaths. 

Trying to find out what his brother could be doing amongst the Death Eaters would consume too much of his time. He’d never been fully clear on the circumstances of his death...but Regulus wouldn’t think kindly of him for making his life harder than it already was. Better that he heed the warning in the letter than go stumbling blindly into affairs of which he had no previous knowledge. A part of him was aware of the fact that he had no ties in the Black family to bolster any sort of inquiry regardless. His parents despised him, had done for a very long time, and he wasn’t good enough at Occlumency to act ‘the part’ again...not in the face of Walburga. There was a good chance he’d be handed straight over to Voldemort if he came knocking, and while the idea of striking down the Dark Lord before he could get a true anchor to his power was appealing, he knew he couldn’t do it alone. Sirius was an accomplished wizard, but he wasn’t Dumbledore. 

Eventually, his thoughts turned to Severus Snape.

Sirius hated the man, and his feelings were returned with equal fervor, but something about it was… _off_. There had to have been a reason the slimy git had defected, but he couldn’t imagine what was more attractive to a Slytherin than the promise of infinite power and influence. Dumbledore had obviously made a deal with him...but he didn’t know _when._ The Snape of this time could still very well be a Death Eater. Reaching out to him would be suicide, especially considering their last encounter at Hogwarts. James would never forgive him the transgression of benevolence towards their greatest ‘enemy’, but he kept the idea in the back of his mind nevertheless. Snivellus had earned Dumbledore’s trust, and he had every intention of finding out _why_ ; perhaps even before the man himself. 

“Oi, interested in a good cause?”

Blinking, Sirius shook the early-autumn chill out of his veins, watching as his breath plumed out in front of him. He liked Scotland, but the empty moors and plunging cliffs only held their novelty for so long. Caithness was quaint, a world lost to time, which was what made it such a popular destination for witches and wizards seeking to build a home. Scattered cottages seemed like straggling rectangular ants from his vantage point atop the moor, tiny puffs of grey-and occasionally multicolored-smoke rising into the air to dance next to the clouds. The sea was a dazzling expanse beyond, a waltz of spray and sky whose music was too far away to hearken to. Ahead, the Potter House was a looming yet somehow welcome sight among the otherwise empty, sprawling hills. Styled much like Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye, there were perhaps a few turrets in different positions...but the likeness was uncanny. And-of course-there were little, odd facets of the landscaping that were just a bit too fantastical for the mansion to be entirely muggle. The gardens were inundated with pixies of all different shapes and colors, and rumor had it that a unicorn had made its home in the woods on the Northern end of the property. Sirius had never seen it personally, but he was fond of the mental image it created nevertheless.

He was there unofficially. 

Which was why the situation of ‘abruptly, James Potter’, was a little bit jarring and not a small amount irritating. 

Said Potter was bundled up in a parka and the cheeks poking out over the top of his scarf and under his glasses were rosy red. The bespectacled wizard was holding out a pamphlet advertising an old yodeling maritime pixie organization and Sirius rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t fall from their sockets. It was an old joke, and he didn’t care to ask where he’d gotten the pamphlet because James was a rather chronic hoarder and he had absolutely given up on trying to get him to toss anything by the time they were in their fourth year. Sometimes he was genuinely impressed with the fact that Evans-soon to be _Potter_ now, of course-put up with it. 

“You’re a scream” Sirius said dryly, tucking his hands in his pockets further. “Can’t hardly breathe for laughing.” 

James chuckled but it was weak...tired. Looking at his friend more closely, Sirius acknowledged that he looked _tired_. That wasn’t so unusual...if you weren’t James Potter. The James from his memories was indomitable...relentless. There was nothing you could throw at him that he couldn’t handle with a raucous laugh and a shit-eating grin. If he hadn’t been alive for nearly half a century, Sirius imagined he would say the same of himself. It was deceptive though...that feeling of being invincible...of thinking that nothing could touch you. There was, ultimately, a very thin line between positivism and a manic, careening recklessness that swept you away and left you dashed against the rocks of existence. 

“Hadn’t heard from you in a while” was the comment eventually. “Didn’t think I’d meet you here...came to visit Mum and Dad.” The wind picked up slightly and out of mutual agreement, they began to walk in the direction of the Manor. “...How are you?” 

It was a complicated question. 

Not in the sense that Sirius didn’t comprehend it, but because there were times when he fairly didn’t know how he was doing nor how to manage it. He was trying to rectify something that would eventually become so large of a problem he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it on his own. The Marauder in him wanted an accomplice...a confidant, but James was near to married and he couldn’t afford to muck it up with the weight he was carrying around. Swallowing against the dry feeling in his throat, Sirius found himself stumbling over an appropriate reply. Because James would know if he was lying...and he didn’t _want_ to lie...but he couldn’t tell the truth...not really. 

_”Sirius.”_ There was, again, a hand on his arm...and he was looking into hazel eyes that were asking him something that he _could not answer._ They’d stopped walking and he was abruptly aware of how cold it was. More than that, however, he was aware of the teeth-clenching, gut-wrenching anxiety that threatened to overcome him. “Bloody hell mate” James muttered. “You can talk to me, you know that. I’m not some over-the-hill codger just because I’m about to get hitched.” 

“I can’t” Sirius said tightly, feeling panic flood his psyche. “I want to, blimey, I _want_ to but I c-”

“-If it isn’t the dynamic duo!” 

He’d never felt more rescued by Euphemia in his life and that was saying a hell of a lot. 

As the warm-looking, gentle-eyed mother of his best mate came trundling up the way he grasped desperately at any chance to change the topic. James’ expression told him that they weren’t finished talking, but he could worry about that later...come up with something that was as close to the truth but not the truth at another time. Neither of them were barmy enough to have a row in front of Mrs. Potter, because it meant that she would either separate them and attempt to mend things via go-between and neither of them were any good at lying to her. More than that...he’d _missed_ her...missed the family that had taken him in so readily and without question. And he didn’t have a good reason for not visiting his friends, but he absolutely did _not_ have a reason for not visiting the Potters. They’d done right by him, and he’d up and left because he couldn’t stand himself...couldn’t stand to keep the company of those who he’d never amounted to anything by even though they’d only wanted the best for him. 

How Euphemia could still smile at him was a mystery he would never solve. 

“Come now” she was saying. “It’s colder than the back of a Scandinavian mountain troll out here. I’ve got a fire going in the parlor, and we’ll bring you both some butterbeer and see if we can get you warm.” 

It shouldn’t have been _so bloody easy_. 

So easy to smile, to shift into the persona of the young, light-hearted individual he had left behind so many years ago. And yet Sirius couldn’t help throwing his most blinding grin at the lady of the house; offering his arm so she could titter over his ‘philandering ways’ and tut over how skinny he’d become as they made their way up the drive and into the foyer. Fleamont, by his reckoning, wouldn’t be far behind his wife. He never was, unless he was working an odd job for the Ministry and as he passed the portrait of Henry Potter, who gave him a rather stern look, he ignored the mounting feeling that perhaps he was monstrously out of place. 

Upon entering the Potter residence, one was faced with a grand mahogany staircase that went straight up to meet a four-centered arch that framed two great wooden doors. On either side of the stairs ran a landing that led to other places in the house...some to various offices, others to bedrooms. They didn’t take the stairs, turning instead to the left to go through a dining room and into a pleasantly lit parlor. It was Euphemia’s designated space, with a clear view of the drive, so of course she would see them coming. Both of them were shooed into their respective chairs and handed butterbeer like they’d never left...or perhaps they’d just gone to market. Sitting in such a familiar space and yet feeling entirely out of place...Sirius couldn’t quell the hysteria that nearly rose up to swallow him. He drank to hide it and James gave him yet another look that said that they weren’t finished even as his mother took to chattering at them with a regularity that was astonishing considering that he hadn’t seen her in such a long time. 

Or...perhaps it simply felt like a long time. 

They spoke of idle things...of work, on James’ part and of Sirius ventures in London...what little he felt comfortable with sharing anyway. There was no good way to say that he’d squandered his days barely working and sometimes barely lucid. Staring at the woman seated across from him, her pleasantly yellow robes brushing the carpeting flooring, he wanted to scream. Because in a few months she would be dead...Dragon Pox would take her and her husband. A part of him wanted to prevent that, desperately, but he didn’t know if that would throw things too much. He didn’t know _anything_ and-

“-irius?” Blinking, suddenly realizing that he was being talked to, Sirius swallowed his butterbeer rather too hard and had to take several moments to succumb to a coughing fit. “Dear, are you alright?” 

“I’ve been asking him that since I ran into him on the moor” James remarked darkly. 

“M’fine” Sirius rasped, setting his mug down with a definitive thump. “Just haven’t got a lot of sleep lately, work’s been rough.” 

“You know if you need anything...” Euphemia began before trailing off. 

_’I need to figure out a way to save you, to save your husband, to save your son, your son’s son who isn’t born yet and your son’s fiancée and it's driving me to madness’_ Sirius thought viciously. 

“No” he replied instead, ducking his head and looking at the fire. “I appreciate it.” 

“Why don’t you have a lie-down?” Mrs. Potter said gently. “The room you used is still made up, it wouldn’t be any trouble. James’ll call for you when dinner’s ready.” 

He couldn’t think of any solid reason to argue with her. _Tired_ did not even begin to cover his state of mind...he could barely think on a good day...and he’d had so few of them lately. Mumbling something gracious and more than likely less-than-flattering, he stood and barely registered when his friend also rose to follow him out of the parlor. It was only when they were at the foot of the staircase when James caught his elbow and held fast until Sirius looked at him. 

“I’m worried for you” he said quietly. “I mean I am rightly worried for you, Si. I just want you to know I’m here for you.” 

Sirius told himself that hearing that didn’t hurt...that he didn’t burn for it...every day...every night. Instead, he forced a crooked, sick sort of smile on his face and nodded in a way that he hoped was convincing. 

“I know” he said gruffly. “Don’t worry about me, Jamie.” 

He didn’t miss the way his friend’s face spasmed at the old endearment, didn’t miss the way his fingers loosened slightly...enough so that he could pull away and begin climbing the steps. And he didn’t miss when James replied...but he didn’t turn around, because he truly didn’t think he could bear it. 

“We both know you’re not going to worry about yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Ending this here for now, again, updates once a week at the latest. There are times when I may get the drive to write more, and faster, but that's the general parameters. This was more of an info/thought process chapter, there's not action in it but I tend to purple prose the mental processes. I am very tired, and it's been hard trying to push through this losing my work. Thank you so much for your readership thus far, I am humbled by it, and I'm grateful to the point where I don't particularly have the words, especially during a time like this.


	5. Soot and Shingles [And Aren't You Clever, But I'll Never Tell]

_’Sirius,_

_I’ve received your letter, but I’m not in a position to answer it thoroughly at the moment, and I need time to think about it._

_-R.’_

“I think that’s as good as you’re going to get.”

James’ voice was muffled by the chimney that he’d currently stuck his head in, but the message was clear all the same. Standing slightly to the side in a 50s-esque style kitchen with his wand illuminating the space with limited light, Sirius wondered if his friend knew what a magnificent view of his arse he’d provided. The minute the thought crossed his mind, he attempted to brush it to the side because it wasn’t going to go anywhere, but the impression remained all the same. They were somewhere in Addington, and he wasn’t entirely clear on why his presence was needed but it was official business and he’d been bored and doing nothing but drinking his way through his supply of Blishen’s at a rate alarming both to himself and his liver and so he’d went. There was a layer of dust atop the rickety kitchen table before him; indicative of the fact that the residents had been absent for a length of time unprecedented. More than that, the letterbox was full to bursting and there were spiders in the false begonias atop the television in the living room.

To a Muggle, it would seem they’d just up and left.

When it came to wizards, however, the indicators of abduction were painfully obvious. Someone had been ‘round to place warding charms on the place, and it was too neat...too gift-wrapped. Shuffling from one foot to the other, Sirius cleared his throat and tilted his head up...squinting at the faint burn mark on the ceiling. He was familiar with such marks from his childhood...they were indicative of mild curses...things to cause pain but not to debilitate. Walburga had been liberal with them on him and the memories of that sort of thing didn’t go away as you got older. James sneezed mightily and the dark-haired wizard watched as his bespectacled friend was showered in a cloud of ash. This was dispelled with a flick of a mahogany wand before it was business as usual. What exactly was so interesting about the bloody chimney he was not entirely sure but he was also not the Auror and so he let it go.

He’d thought about it.

Applying to the program, that is, but his heart wasn’t in it. James was gung-ho for both of them going for their qualifications at the same time...from what he could recall, but his grades weren’t good enough and he didn’t have the discipline. There was a strict hierarchy to Auror training that would have had him gnawing at the bit when it came to freedom. Sirius had had a hard enough time managing the rules as a student; and it was all fun and games when you weren’t of age...but after that even he wasn’t dim enough to recognize that his actions had heavier consequences than they’d had when he was a wizard in training. Occupationally, he took what he could get, and he didn’t ask for more because it seemed like an inglorious privilege just to have his own flat and his own run of his life. It wasn’t a posh life, but he wasn’t bang up for silverware and dinner table manners in any case. Nobody worried about him, not anymore at least, unless they felt it was absolutely necessary, and that was perfectly alright. When he and James had their row about him getting married he’d been fairly convinced that he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone nagging him ever again, but he was-yet again-proven wrong.

James was keeping tabs on him.

If he were in a better state of mind and less worried about the impending doom of the wizarding world he might have gotten his knickers in a twist about it. Sirius was rightly an adult, after all, and adults did not need their mates running around after them making sure they had their heads on straight. More than that, he was technically _older_ than James by several decades at this point, and he didn’t feel like he particularly owed him his time when he had so much else to agonize over. He’d long ago learned that trying to dissuade James Potter was closer to encouraging him than anything, and so he’d given it up...but it didn’t stop him from wanting to box his ears whenever he showed up on his doorstep like a goggled goon wearing a stupid grin and a I-just-shagged-my-perfectly-lovely-wife expression. The expression was always short lived whenever he saw the state of his flat, but it didn’t change the fact that it was there, nor did it change the fact that Sirius had not had a good fuck since he was ressurrected. He was given the distinct impression that this was making him just as loopy as anything. Unfortunately, the adult that lingered in his now-very-horny body was too practical to throw down with any pretty thing that looked his way and he was stuck, looking at his friend’s arse while he was shoved up a chimney and wondering what the world was coming to.

It likely was as good as he was going to get.

Remus was flighty on a good day...had been since they graduated and pushing him would not get him to visit any sooner. Sirius was more aware than anyone that this was the point where Voldemort would start gathering those afflicted with lycanthropy close to him, and at some point it would fall to Remus to become a spy...if he hadn’t already. Peter had been considerably more forthright. A week or so after he’d spent time with Mr. Pettigrew he’d received a letter from Wormtail fairly delirious in its gratefulness and with a promise that he would visit soon with his lady wife. He felt like the most arsed up tosser in the world for not being the least bit excited about it. There was a facet of himself that warred ferociously with the fact that this was the same person that would eventually betray them all...or had betrayed them in a different timeline. Sirius did not honestly know how he was going to look Peter in the eyes and not punch him square through his apartment window. He had to constantly remind himself that Peter had not gotten to that point yet; that there was still time to right his wrongs. It was hard to look at it otherwise, and so he found himself agonizing over the intricacies in the dark hours...when things became so mixed up that he could hardly think straight for the panic that seemed to churn within him.

Spending time with Lily and James only made it worse.

It made it worse because there were so many qualities he had _forgotten_ about them that he was now forced to face with the knowledge that he had let them go in the first place. He’d forgotten that James was so wickedly funny. And he’d known it, of course, but he hadn’t recalled it with such clarity until his messy-haired mate had made a wise crack at a Prophet article and he’d fairly spit his whiskey all over himself trying not to laugh. This was made worse by the fact that after he’d gotten over his mirth he’d nearly cried...because he could lose this _all over again_. He could lose the way James lingered over his shoulder whenever he came ‘round...the way he leaned on his arm because that was the way they’d done it for forever...since they were sixteen sitting at the fire in the common room and too drunk to do anything but look at the flames. He’d forgotten the way Lily would sit in a chair adjacent and look at them with those green eyes that were so much like Harry’s. And there was something in her expression that gave him pause, like she knew something that he didn’t...but he didn’t have the bollocks to ask her and he doubted he ever would.

He missed Harry.

It was strange to miss someone who hadn’t been born yet, but he did. And it wasn’t like Sirius was ever very consistent when it came to communicating with his godson, but the few moments they were allowed together were so precious to him that he couldn’t help turning them over in his mind. Harry was the perfect combination of both of his parents; he had all of Lily’s kindness and all of James’ clever wit. Sirius had never felt judged or condemned by Harry once the air regarding his innocence was cleared and sometimes that hurt him more than if he’d decided to hate him because Sirius had never been able to forgive himself...and yet he found no quarter of judgement when it came to the last remnants of the family he had loved so much and so honestly. Harry was so desperately careful but also so desperately lonely even in his goodness and it hurt his heart to see him so. Both of them had been angry...at the the end of it. It was a hard year for both of them...harder for Harry and he wasn’t blind to it but he hadn’t been able to support him properly because he’d been in no state to support anyone.

If he thought about it too much he felt like he was going absolutely mad.

Even with bringing Peter back into the fold there was no guarantee that someone else wouldn’t rise up to take his place as the betrayer. There was also no guarantee that Sirius could keep himself safe, and that was a hell of a pill to swallow. He had never been concerned with his own safety before, especially not during this time. He was young and he had ridiculous visions but with the knowledge he now possessed he knew he could not rightly put himself in danger for the sake of pure fuckery. There was too much that Voldemort could gain from his mind, and the risk was too great. Sirius was not fearful, but he wasn’t fear _less_ anymore and it was a bizarre headspace to exist in. Rapping his knuckles against the bedraggled kitchen table, Sirius sucked on his lip until copper flooded his tongue. Wincing, he instead reverted his focus to the sink and observed as a spider crawled its way up to tap...a thin line of silk attached to its abdomen in a shivering...silver strand of gossamer.

Maybe he could just kill Trelawny.

“Oi, I’m inches deep in soot and you’re planning a murder?”

Frowning, ignorant to the fact that he’d spoken aloud, Sirius watched as James reemerged looking like he’d sat behind the exhaust to a lorry for several hours. His hair was askew-his clothes no better-and he was accosted with the urge to laugh hysterically just because it would be some form of relief and he was still mildly pissed. James flicked his wand again and the impression of being in the presence of a moggy was slightly less with his face washed clean. When Sirius didn’t reply, he raised an eyebrow and adjusted his glasses in a motion that was more habit than necessity.

“Mate, look, I know you’ve gone ‘round the bend, but this is a bit far-”

“-I’m not going to murder someone” Sirius snapped. “Bugger off it, I was thinking out loud.”

He was given a dour look.

“That is some dark thinking you’re doing. Look, Moony’ll answer when he’s ready; you showed me the letter, and I say give him his space and time, you know how he is.” A gesture at the fireplace. “It was tapped to the flu” James paused and he was graced with the great privilege of seeing his friend close his left nostril with one finger so he could expel what he was assumed was ash from the right unhindered. “Briefly” was the nasally continuation. “Can’t trace it, so it’s a dead end.”

“I’m absolutely devastated” Sirius said drolly.

“I don’t see why you’ve come along if you’re going to be a wanker” James retorted, straightening fully and fixing him with a pointed glare. “This isn’t the first disappearance we’ve had and it’s all looking dirty.”

“You’re dirty” the older man replied lazily, leaning on the table. “Lily’s going to think you’ve spent the whole day in a smokestack.” When he was levelled with another thoroughly unimpressed look, he smirked. “I’ve not got the mind to refute her impression, just so you know.” James’ lips twitched but he did his best to hide it as he flicked his wand again to resettle the dust about the fireplace. There was a great cracking noise as half the mantle fell in place of what was intended and both stared dumbfoundedly at the ruin for a moment before Sirius snorted and promptly broke into a series of snickers. “Oh well done mate” he chortled. “Wait ‘till-”

“Shut up” James snapped sharply, his posture suddenly tense.

“I didn’t mean it like tha-” the older man began defensively.

“-I said shut _up_ Pads!”

As he spoke, the salt and pepper shaker atop the table began to rattle ominously along with the tupperware atop various countertops. The crack from the mantle began to spread even as there were various, staggered popping noises in areas about the house. There was the sensation of something whizzing by his cheek and all the hair on his neck stood on end even as he ducked instinctively to avoid the spell that sent a crockpot exploding forth from a cabinet in a roil of glass and porcelain shattering this way and that. James was shouting something but he couldn’t hear it over the thunderhead of magic that came bursting their way even as he rolled across the floor to avoid another _Stupefy_ thrown in his direction. His head cracked against the table leg and he saw stars before a hand was hauling him up roughly by the arm and he cursed himself for walking into the situation blind and not identifying the trigger for what it was. The fireplace had been designed to send off a warning signal when whoever was sent to investigate tried to erase the signs they’d been there. It was clever, because Auror training dictated that employees leave no trace, so of course that was the first thing James was going to do.

Not for the first time, Sirius was glad that he hadn’t joined the program.

He was glad because even as his mate hauled him up he was able to push him away and deflect the curse thrown to land directly between his stupid glasses. Sirius was no trained professional, but he was a good duelist and training did not entirely make up for unanticipated situations. He had plenty of practice from looking over his shoulder at Hogwarts when his best mate wasn’t there; there were perks to being a Marauder, but there were pitfalls to being a blood traitor, and Regulus had made sure that he knew those pitfalls intimately, especially when it was clear that he wasn't going to help him. Sirius was used to being ambushed, and so he was more prepared than James for this particular situation; especially since it was clear that they were outnumbered, five to two. More than that, Walburga had educated him in the art of using every bloody thing he could get his hands on as a deflection or shield, even if she hadn’t meant to. When someone sent a Killing Curse in his direction he used a cast iron frying pan to deflect it, and even though it cracked it was enough to stop the momentum and buy them a little time.

“I thought you said that this was a routine check!” Sirius shouted, snatching at his friend’s collar and promptly slamming him against the wall cheek first so he could block another curse.

“This _is_ routine” James growled, though it was muffled by the wall. Another second bled into the next and Sirius watched the ground rise up to meet him as his friend threw him off so he could bodybind a faceless individual charging towards them at a speed unwarranted. “Si, get your arse off the floor and clear an exit!”

“You put me on the floor!” Sirius practically shrieked before twisting to avoid a boot and a broken nose. Behind him, a jar of flour exploded and the kitchen was wrought with white. “Shouldn’t you be more worried?” he grunted, pushing himself off the floor so he could flick his wand at the wizard trying to get a shot at him through a table leg. Said wizard collapsed and began laughing uncontrollably even as he blew the back door off its hinges in a shatter of wood and dust. “I’m just a _citizen_ after all.”

There was a bit of a scuffle in which both men attempted to drag each other out the exit at the same time. Behind them the kitchen table burst into flames and Sirius found himself grieving for it because the salt and pepper shakers were shaped like motorcycles. By the time they’d made it outside and apparated several streets down they were tangled up in each other’s robes and cursing mightily. It took several more minutes to sort themselves out and Sirius vaguely registered that his nose was bleeding freely but he couldn’t be bothered to mop it up what with being so ingloriously pissed at his mate.

“I didn’t sign up for a tete-a-tete” he snarled even as James kept hold of him fast and began to dab at his nose with a hankerchief like it was going to do anything.

“Look” was the impatient response. “If you’re going to kill someone-”

“Oh fuck _off_ Jamie!” he fairly roared before the hankerchief was very nearly jammed up his nostril. Instead he found himself with a facefull of cotton even as his head was tilted back in a manner not very gentle. “You could use a _spell_ ” he whined even as copper flooded the back of his throat.

“I’m pants at healing” was the muttered reply. “You know that, I’ll grow you four more nostrils and then you’ll _really_ be cross with me.”

“S’too late for that” Sirius raged, albeit in a muffled, very squashed voice. “I am absolutely _livid_ at you, don’t you know that I’ve got a thousand people to save-”

He shut up, but it was too late.

There was an air of bated breath even as the tell-tale signs of his friend’s smugness became apparent in his posture and bearing. At the same time, he was suddenly hyper aware of how close James was and how _dangerous_ this was for him emotionally. Blinking back the reaction to mounds of rubble and dust in his eyes, Sirius was entirely cognizant of the fact that his friend was devastatingly handsome even though he looked like he’d been in a barn. And his nose was stupid and large and too near and he could count the tiny freckles across it even as he wanted to sock him square for putting him in such a position in the first place.

“A thousand people?” James hummed pensively, not really looking at him. “That’s a long list you’ve got, Sirius...are you sure you can handle it on your lonesome?”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t, because if he replied now he was going to spill absolutely everything and he was going to end up in St. Mungo’s. Or worse, James would take him at his word and then there were the unknowns involved and he didn’t know how to deal with the unknowns. He hardly knew how to deal with any of this and it was too much. And it was such a clean confession, in the midst of adrenaline...it was easy to blurt out whatever was on his mind. Sirius had never been good at keeping secrets, let alone secrets from the individual across from him. It was why he had rejected the idealisms of him being Secret Keeper in the first place, because he didn’t want that responsibility, because he was a coward and he’d gotten them _killed-!_ He was the reason he’d walked into the house in Godric’s Hollow to magical carnage...it was a moment forever burned into his mind because he would have been mad to forget it...mad to forget the degree of despair that had consumed him to see James lying across the entryway...sightless and unmoving. Because he had _love-_

“-You planned this” Sirius said dully, still staring upwards at the sky. The handkerchief was removed but he kept his visage where it was...looking at the icy grey of the London stratosphere. “You knew this wasn’t going to be routine, and you knew I’d get tossed off at you.”  
James didn’t reply, and that was all the more telling. When he laughed, it was a despairing thing, something wrenched from the very depths of his soul. It spilled over his lips like a dark wave and every bone in his body seemed to jerk with it even as he kept his eye to the clouds. “You _knew._ ”

“Tell me something” was the soft return at length. When he didn’t respond James tugged his chin down and a thin runnel of rubicund descended from his nostril to flood over his lips before stopping just shy of his chin. And he didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to because James had always seen too much and yet too little of him at once. “Sirius” was the hoarse continuation. “Are you trying to save me?”

“Don’t make me answer that,” he said brokenly. “I can’t answer you, mate.”

Slowly, James nodded, but it was a slow, sympathetic sort of nod that made him want to hang himself. When they turned down the alleyway and apparated back to the ministry to give report it would be with the knowledge that the Muggles they’d come to check up on were dead...that their bodies had been found in the Thames hours beforehand even as they searched the house. James would be given a warning for involving common citizenry in a pointless search and Sirius would receive news that Dumbledore was wanting to meet him only a few minutes later. Fawks would come for him personally, because of course he would and James would give him a look that told him he knew more than he was willing to let on but he wasn’t willing to push him. And he was grateful for that...but he wasn’t grateful because he was _alone_. Sirius was, all things considered, an old man...an old man play acting like he could save the world, and sometimes it felt like it was all just a cruel joke...like he was going to wake up somewhere soundless and senseless with the knowledge that he had never had this opportunity in the first place, even if he didn’t want to squander it.

“Listen here” James muttered, shoving him roughly before hauling him close. “I don’t give a rat’s arse what you think you’re doing, but I do give a rat’s arse about the fact that it’s killing you.” Sirius very nearly laughed at that, because he’d been dead already, and now he wasn’t entirely sure how to prevent it. “I love you, Sirius.” It felt like his heart had suddenly risen up to clog his throat, but the younger man was looking at him in that fond...familial way that he adored so much and yet _hated_. “You’re the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had, and I’d hang the world for you. But I know when you’ve got a bone to chew and you won’t let anyone else near it.” A smirk at the dog-related metaphor, and he very much wanted to scream. “You just let me know when you’re done with that bone and you’re ready for me to come and help you out, alright?”

And James was so very warm and safe, and there were so many things that he wanted to say that he couldn’t. And Sirius was tortured with the knowledge that if he leaned mere inches closer and pressed bloody lips to soot-stained ones he could make that image fall all to pieces like shattered glass...but he didn’t. Instead he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of incoming rain and told himself the pain was worth it. Instead...he nodded and dropped his head onto a familiar shoulder and told himself that he would keep on...if not for himself...for everyone else.

“...Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Will be edited for my horrendous grammar errors like 'and thousand people'.


	6. Lemon Drops and Elderflower Wine [We're Together For Now, and that's Fine]

Sirius was pretty near to certain that any conversation that started with the words _’My Dear boy’_ was ominous.

Staring at the bespectacled old man before him, the dark-haired wizard acknowledged that the only reason he felt this way was because of Albus Dumbledore. And it wasn’t fair really because he could not rightly get angry at someone who wore spangled robes and offered lemon drops on the regular. Not _properly_ angry in any case though he could do plenty of the inward-stewing while trying to parse out his opponent’s angle. There was also the sole fact that Hogwarts’ current Headmaster could kick his arse six ways to Sunday in a duel and Sirius was crazy sometimes but he was not suicidal. More than that, he was fairly sure that Dumbledore would find some way to subdue him in five seconds flat, and it would be such a nice, well-mannered _manner_ of subduing that it would make him look like a very sorry soul who needed proper guidance and a kind hand.

Neither of them were playing any cards.

Metaphorically, in any case. If he were entirely honest with himself, Sirius would admit that the situation felt tense...but he couldn’t say why. He’d been in the Headmaster’s office for far more virulent offenses than being a time-traveler; though Dumbledore did not _know_ he was a time traveler….or he didn’t _think_ he knew he was a time traveler. Sirius had-for example-been in the exact same room for attempted murder. And he hadn’t looked at it like attempted murder, just a rather edgy joke for laughs, but that’s what it had been in the end and with all things considered he was very aware of the fact that he’d gotten off easy. Even then, he hadn’t felt quite as tense as he did now...but there was far more at risk now than there had been then. It was around three in the afternoon, and someone had sent up tea but he honestly did not trust it not to have Veritaserum.

Sirius was aware that this was very paranoid.

It was quite paranoid, but he had to be more careful now than he’d ever been; and Sirius was not very good at being careful. It just didn’t come to him naturally and so he was forced to be hysterically paranoid even in the face of someone he had implicitly trusted his entire life. Periwinkle blue eyes flicked to the teacup as if they knew exactly what he was thinking and the eldest of Walburga Black’s children scrambled to pick up cup and saucer and take an exaggerated sip that mostly lingered on his tongue. A mustached lip twitched amusedly as he rolled the tea-Earl Grey, he noted-around in his mouth to try and parse out the flavor of any sort of malicious potion. There was none, and when he swallowed he didn’t feel any worse for wear so he continued to sip very carefully.

“My dear boy” Dumbledore repeated, and Sirius very nearly fell out of his chair. Because he was not _used_ to trying to pull the wool over very powerful wizards’ eyes and bloody hell if it wasn’t a task and a half. “You seem quite nervous.”

He wanted to explicitly state that he was not nervous, he was terrified half out of his pants, but that did not seem like a productive vein of conversation. And Sirius didn’t remember being very antsy around Dumbledore otherwise, but he’d also not had to lie to Dumbledore otherwise. Even as a young lad-and he was still a young lad, but as a _very_ young lad just beginning his schooling-he’d always been given the distinct impression that Albus Dumbledore could quite easily read his mind. This impression had not changed as the years went by...even after his stay in Azkaban, the Headmaster still looked at him and it was rather as if he could see every ugly scar that his misdeeds had left on his psyche. Sometimes the feeling of being read was unpleasant, but from Dumbledore it had always seemed sympathetic….understanding.

Now it was just quite horrid.

The Marauder in him shrieked that he could just have James cause an upset, but James was not here. James had been scolded very thoroughly by his boss for taking Sirius Black on an unnecessary reconnaissance mission and gone home looking absolutely cranky about Sirius not telling him anything. Fawkes had excellent timing; excellent in the sense that it was abysmal and his bespectacled friend was privy to seeing the phoenix land on Sirius shoulder pretty as you please, and that of course only made him more suspicious and a suspicious James was a _determined_ James. Sirius had no doubt that he’d return home to something or another designed to catch him out and he had no desire for such games at the moment. Right now he needed to focus on fooling Albus Dumbledore, and he was not entirely sure anyone had managed to do so before.

“Nearly got my mate fired” Sirius muttered, setting his teacup down so his hands didn’t shake. Folding them in his lap, he continued. “Not the most relaxing of scenarios, that.”

“Ah, James” Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, I heard about that, but it doesn’t seem like he’ll be in too much trouble, does it?”

“‘Suppose not” the dark-haired wizard replied, looking very determinedly at the offensively-familiar bowl of lemon drops. For a moment, the Headmaster was silent, and Sirius was gullible enough to begin thinking he was out of the woods.

“I do love lemon drops” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Won’t you take one?”-Sirius took one- “Take another!”-he took another-”Take as many as you like! I did a favor for a confectioner once, you know, and I’ve got a lifetime supply any time I ask.”

Sirius told himself that eating three lemon drops at once was entirely healthy and that they wouldn’t get stuck on his teeth and that he wouldn’t get heartburn from all the citrus at his age. As far as he was concerned, if he needed to sit in the Headmaster’s office like a naughty student he was mentally and biologically twelve with the digestive system of a garbage disposal.

 _”Fanks”_ he mumbled around a frankly horrendously tangy mouthful.

“I find that sucking on them helps me think” was the shrewd continuation, and that dangerous sparkle was back. “Helps clear the mind, my boy.” A pause, and Sirius was too busy sucking desperately on what he now realized was a trap to reply. “Do you have anything on your mind, Sirius?” Widening his eyes, the aforementioned man wanted to demand why in the blue blazes Dumbledore thought he was going to be able to respond when he’d purposefully stuffed him full of sweets. A spangled arm was waved in a manner not in the least bit reassuring. “How rude of me, of course you can’t answer.” That mustache twitched mightily and Sirius closed his eyes in despair. “What I _mean_ is that sometimes when you’ve got something on your mind, it can feel good to unburden yourself after some thought.” Cracking his eyes open in a manner most-accusing, Sirius was privy to the sight of his former Headmaster taking his own lemon drop, leaning back in his seat, and closing his eyes. “So” was the slightly burdened mouthful of a continuation. “Let us sit here and give things some thought.”

_Godric wept._

If Sirius had been able to, he’d have groaned, but he wasn’t entirely sure he would choke if he did. As it was, he was forced to endure the relative silence of the office while becoming steadily sicker of the taste of lemon. It wasn’t entirely silent, granted; the various gadgets Dumbledore always had around were very convenient for looking at, and it wasn’t like he knew what half of them were for. Fawkes was currently in very good health and observing him with black, beady eyes that were just on the side of too-judgy. Sirius had always wondered if the frequency with which one entered the Headmaster’s office gave one a form of status with the Phoenix and various portraits. Remembering the portraits, he whipped his head around to see Dippet scratching his nose with a quill and side-eyeing him somewhat thunderously. Eventually, the lemon drops dissolved into nearly-nothing and he was left with a looming headache and a feeling of intense embarrassment. Dumbledore’s eyes were still closed and they only opened when Sirius began to quite _seriously_ plan an escape.

“Ah” was the gravelly yet somehow kindly comment. “Well that was refreshing, wasn’t it?”

“If you say so, sir” Sirius replied, feeling miffed.

“Oh please, ‘Albus’ will do. You’re not a student anymore, Sirius.”

“Old habits die hard” he muttered.

And suddenly Dumbledore was looking frighteningly shrewd.

“But they’re not that old, are they?” was the smooth and desperately sleek reply. “You’ve not been out of Hogwarts that long...or had you forgotten?”

_Shag the Shelliferous Drogodflikerous._

Sirius wanted to curse the day that he developed such a big mouth in front of his brain. And it had served him well and cleverly in the past but it did not seem to want to serve him cleverly in the face of Albus Dumbledore and his very shiny spectacles. He was very sure that if James were there he’d have laughed himself out of his seat due to his inability to be circumspect alone. That and eating a ridiculous amount of lemon drops to try and appease one of the most accomplished wizards in wizarding history, but that was neither here nor there. He smiled but it felt weak and flimsy and very sticky and he had possibly never felt younger...not in many, many years.

“Turn of phrase” Sirius countered, relieved when his voice didn’t shake. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course, of course” Dumbledore murmured, leaning forward and steepling his hands on his desk. “Sirius” the Headmaster continued after a moment. “It might interest you to know that there was an infestation of Flobberworms in Surrey, the like of which has never been seen before.” _Sirius_ assumed he must have looked absolutely gobsmacked, because his conversational companion tilted his head. “Have you ever heard tell of an infestation of flobberworms, my boy?”

_Oh._

The _timeline_. Feeling both terrified and absolutely boxed-in, Sirius acknowledged that Dumbledore was speaking of a possible change in the timeline. And he quite rightly could not remember an infestation of flobberworms in Surrey from before. Swallowing, he cleared his throat.

“No” he answered hoarsely. “No I haven’t.”

The slow and stately nod he received in response was understanding and infuriating.

“Sometimes” Dumbledore continued with the air of one choosing his words very carefully. “Things change whether we intend for them to or not.” He was fixed with a very bushy brow. “Therefore, my boy, if you spend too much time worrying about what you might change, you might find your person at odds with everything entirely...including yourself.” When Sirius said nothing, he went on. “It was good to chat with you, Sirius, but keep in mind that should you ever need a confidant-”

“-I’ll keep it in mind” Sirius cut in hastily, scrambling to his feet. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet” was the chuckled return, and the Headmaster watched as he stumbled his way to the fireplace. Throwing floo powder into the flames, Sirius considered himself sincerely lucky to escape by the skin of his teeth. “Oh, and Sirius” Dumbledore interjected as he made to step in, turning when he was addressed and feeling really quite desperate at this point. The Headmaster twinkled at him and he told himself he didn’t feel terrible for not telling him anything. “Be careful.”

With his throat suddenly tight, Sirius stepped into the flames, but not before replying;

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

* * *

Someone had booby-trapped his front door.

It wasn’t the insidious kind of booby-trap, however, just the kind that hauled you into the air by your ankle and left you there until James Potter decided you were worthy of being let down. Sirius had not been in such a position too many times before, but he’d been there enough to know that his mate was rightly pissed at him and was letting him know it not-so-subtly. He supposed that he ought to have counted it a blessing that Remus chose that very night to show up and take him down so that when they entered the house and found a fairly bristling Potter sitting at the kitchen table he had a buffer to shield himself with. And really Moony was not much of a buffer because once he heard the entirety of _’Sirius-has-turned-into-a-shifty-wanker’_ rubbish that James threw at him, he was inclined to take a neutral stance even if he looked like he was about to fall over on Sirius’ carpet and start snoring.

His flat was dingy.

Dingy in the sense that it was a four-room accommodation with a living room adjoined to the kitchen, a W.C., a bathroom, and a bedroom. The laundry was a shared space commandeered by the other tenants, and he knew enough spells that he didn’t feel the need to go down there unless he’d done something absolutely filthy. James had often offered to let him move in with him and Lily, but the look on Lily’s face was enough to tell Sirius that this was a one-sided olive branch and he dared not accept it lest he find himself in the middle of a massive row between his best mate and his lady love. Likewise, Euphemia had offered not once, not twice, but perhaps baker’s dozen of times for him to move back into Potter Manor. He would be lying if he said that the offer wasn’t attractive, but he wasn’t a freeloader, and he honestly did not think he deserved it, so he refused. It was all that he needed anyway; being single and unattached. Leaky pipes could be fixed with rudimentary spells and if he didn’t eat as often as he ought to have, no one needed to know that.

“Eventually I’m going to find out” James declared angrily, taking a rather aggressive pull on the bottle of Elderflower wine he’d brought along and looking like he rather regretted it moments later. Passing it to Remus, who stared suspiciously down the neck before taking a more measured sip, he pointed a furious finger at Sirius, who tried and failed to look innocent. “You’re being shifty” he complained. “And it’s _worse_ because I’m out of the loop; we’re the _Marauders_ we tell each other everything-!” -Another flailing gesture and his bespectacled friend nearly fell out of his chair. Sirius wondered when his livelihood had become such a serious topic for James, or if he simply hadn’t noticed it was, or if he was just so much of an arse he hadn’t bothered otherwise. “I’m _going_ to find out” James growled. “I will Si I-”

“-I think you’ve had enough” Remus said firmly, handing the bottle to Sirius who promptly tossed back the rest because fuck all. “Don’t you have a wedding to plan?”

“Lils won’t let me plan” James pouted, immediately distracted. Running a hand over his lips, Prongs proceeded to look more like a kicked puppy than Sirius ever had. “Says she doesn’t want snitches as table decorations.” James screwed up his face in a bewildered expression. “Says she wants _’gerberas’_ , who chooses gerberas over snitches?”

“Don’t know mate” Sirius replied commiseratingly even as Remus looked very deeply unimpressed. “Maybe you can get a bludger on your cake.”

“That’s a _smashing_ idea” was the enthusiastic reply. There was a crash as the kitchen chair fell back and James struggled to rise. “I'll go tell her right n-”

“-Maybe you should sober up first” Remus said firmly before retrieving the chair and sitting the dark-haired man back in it. “I think you might be overestimating Lily’s benevolence in your current state.”

“What is wrong with a bludger?” Sirius asked crankily. “They’re all..symbolic; with holes and the like, y’know.”

Remus gave him that look that told him he was being stupid without trying. Sirius rolled his eyes and huffed exasperatedly before throwing himself into the chair opposite James. His hair managed to get over his eyes and he tossed it back in time to see James look equally as offended as he was.

“Oi Remus” his friend snapped. “Aren’t you supposed to be _my mate?_ Don’t you know how ‘mportant Quidditch is?”

“I’ve only just arrived” was the exasperated reply. “And I think Quidditch is...very important. But you are marrying Lily, you are not marrying your broomstick.”

James appeared to need several minutes to think that over, and by the time he had apparently thought it over he didn’t seem to know what else to say. Instead, he settled with leaning back in his chair while staring blankly at the overhead lights.

“How are you though?” Sirius asked Remus at length. “Really?”

The wary look he received in return hurt in ways he’d not anticipated. It hurt because it told him that Remus still didn’t trust him...not entirely. At the very least, it told him that he hadn’t forgiven him, and Sirius _wanted_ to be forgiven, but he had no right to rush it.

“I can’t complain” was the quiet response, accompanied by some haggard shuffling. After a minute, his friend amended his statement. “I _won’t_ complain.” A deep breath. “Thank you” was the added comment. “For your letter.” Sirius nodded, feeling as if his voice was somewhat stuck in his throat. “We were worried” Remus added. “All of us.” He appeared to struggle with what he was going to say next. “Sirius...you don’t take care of yourself like you should.”

“Too right” James slurred to the ceiling.

“You don’t” Remus interjected when Sirius opened his mouth to fire back at Prongs’ statement. “You’ve never done, not since Hogwarts, and...well. It was good to hear you’re alright.”

“Blimey” Sirius muttered, lifting his wand to vanish the bottle of wine. “Aren’t you all negative Nancies.” Remus gave him that look again, and he shrugged but didn’t continue with that vein of conversation. “What say we drag Prongsie to the living room and see how well he can play chess in his current state.”

“Oh” James groaned. “You beast.” Remus’ mouth twitched even as Sirius snickered. With a grand swooping gesture, their bespectacled friend returned his chin to a relatively level position before smirking in a manner just on the wrong side of drunk. “I’ll still wipe the floor with you lot.”

It was a good night.

It was also out of the timeline.

Sirius found himself unable to worry about it...however; not with Remus sprawled out across the rug squinting at the chess set like he used to in the common room. Not with the fire he so rarely lit when he was by himself crackling merrily, and certainly not with James leaning heavily on his shoulder and complaining whenever he lost spectacularly but predictably. His weight was warm, it was friendly, and it was fiercely nostalgic and a part of him wanted to cause a scene just to cause it; but he was far too happy to do so. Someone managed to figure out his gramophone and Fleetwood Mac was shivering across his eardrums and it was good enough...good enough for him to tie James’ shoelaces together so that when he got up to go to the loo he ended up falling over Sirius; who had-of course-positioned himself so he wouldn’t bang himself up too badly. James groaned even as Remus sighed at them like they were children before reaching over to undo the footwear related damage and they played another round.

By the time they were finished it was late, James fell asleep on the floor and Sirius moved him to the couch because he didn’t actually want to wake him because he didn’t want him to leave. Remus watched him help him over to the ancient, threadbare monstrosity with a knowing expression that he didn’t heed...not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. They cleaned up the chess set and chatted of idle things until Lily popped into the fireplace and demanded to know where her fiance was. When she caught sight of him sleeping on the couch, however, her expression softened and she merely asked them to tell James that she’d said goodnight before having a very lengthy chat with Remus that Sirius didn’t pay attention to. Instead, he found himself watching how the firelight caught Prongs’ hair...the way it played across his mouth and the just-barely there stubble that had started to form. The urge to reach out and touch was strong...but he resisted. In the past he might not have, but he couldn’t breach that boundary now...there was too much for him to lose. Instead he merely looked; even when there was the tell-tale _***pop***_ of Lily floo’ing out and the soft footfall of Remus’ socked feet on the carpet. Only when a hand was placed on his shoulder did he look up...and when he did it was to meet eyes filled with concern...but it was not a new concern.

“...Maybe you should go to bed, Sirius” Remus said gently. “It’s late.”

Sirius grinned because despite it all, he was still happy to have them all-well, the majority of them-together. He took Remus’ advice because he was quite tired due to his encounter with Dumbledore; but not before sticking James to the couch with a very mild charm that would wear off fairly quickly once the victim realized they were stuck. Moony rolled his eyes but it was a fond sort of roll, and Sirius gave him some extra blankets and a pillow before retiring. It was a good day, he decided, settling down on his mattress...the sort you wanted to remember for a good long while afterwards. He would need to be more careful when it came to Dumbledore...especially since the old codger seemed to suspect something already. James was becoming a bit of a nuisance, but he was easy to distract. No, Sirius just needed a solid alibi, and a good reason that was not actually his reason for acting shifty. That was all, and then he could plan in peace.

Peter came knocking the next morning.

Then it all went to hell at a rate quite remarkable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Yeah Sirius, Dumbledore definitely doesn't know anything at all. Sure. 
> 
> Sorry for the day's delay, been working probably more than I ought to. 
> 
> I know my adaptation of like; English slang....or turns of phrase isn't fantastic, but it's sort of a learned process I guess. I apologize if there are grammar errors, I'm fighting a mammoth migraine. Thanks for reading!


	7. Budgies and Biscuits [Telly-Phownes and don't tell Tuney but it's a Trap]

Sirius was fairly sure he was snooping where no one had ever dared to snoop before.

Then again, he was also positive that no one particularly _wanted_ to snoop around Petunia Dursley’s kitchen but he’d always been one for spontaneous urges and he didn’t figure she’d ever tell anyone he was there regardless; too shameful to a have a fully-grown wizard lounging next to your freshly-baked biscuits...purely bad form. Really, Sirius had begun to consider the word _scandalous_ ; because Petunia had not moved since he’d strolled in the open sliding glass door and sat himself down on a barstool in front of said biscuits. She was wearing a flour-covered apron and her hair was up in rollers but it wasn’t as if he’d caught her absolutely starkers. And, fine, _maybe_ she didn’t know him as well as she knew James-and she did not know James very well, but that was besides the point-so perhaps him waltzing into her home was not the best of measures, but there was nothing for it; he had questions, and he was Sirius Black.

He and Petunia had never exchanged a single word prior.

Clearing his throat, Sirius shifted on his stool before popping a biscuit in his mouth without preamble. Vernon Dursley’s wife released an exclamation that was somewhere between horrification and rage; but it was a good biscuit, with just the right amount of chips...so he ignored it. Humming a kind of idle approval, the dark-haired man swallowed and reached for the pan again only to have his hand swatted with a rolled up Associated; not hard enough to hurt, but unexpected enough to make him yelp. By this time, his assailant had made it halfway across the kitchen-newspaper still raised in a clear threat-and had one hand on those strange telly-phowne contraptions, presumably to call the Muggle police. Sirius really did not have time to deal with the authorities, and so when he spelled the telly-phowne to turn into a yellow parrot, it was with the intent to stall and not terrify.

But terrify he did.

Terrify Sirius black did; enough that Petunia screamed bloody murder at the sight of a kitchen appliance turned into a banana-hued budgie. He suddenly found himself with a lapful of woman that he was not necessarily fond of; and even if he was, he was _certainly_ not fond of her husband and he did not fancy Vernon finding him in his kitchen with armfuls of his missus. And he had never seen himself as much of a cut of a comforting figure before anyway; he was all hard angles and shaggy hair and severe eyebrows. Now _Lupin_ sometimes looked comforting in a way that a well-worn book could look comforting and shabby and just very tired but not Sirius. Definitely not; and certainly not to a woman of Petunia’s taste.if he wanted to even call it taste and insult himself further in the process. Logic, however, appeared to have flown the coop on this day, and so he sat; with his future friend-in-law’s sister clutching at his leather jacket and a telly-phowne parrot flapping around the ceiling. He was-not for the first time-astonished at his ability to get himself into complicated situations without lifting a finger.

“Right jumpy thing you are” Sirius remarked.

This was an extraneous statement; Petunia had always been jumpy as far as he knew, and he knew very little. Lily did not speak of her sister often, and if she did it was with an air of disappointment and resignation. He knew next to nothing about her career, about her livelihood or her lifestyle and he didn’t care to save for now, when he needed information. James spoke of Petunia as if she were a mangy alley cat in a bin; and from the way it sounded like she treated Lily, he could see why. Now, however, things were complicated, because he needed her to talk, and he didn’t need her to talk sparingly. More than that, he didn’t want her to talk under the influence of Veritaserum or any sort of mind-altering magic-related stunt. Lily was as sharp as a tack, and while she might not get along with her sister, she was still smart enough to be able to discern if something was off. Sirius was also a terrible liar when it came down to women. The only reason he’d been able to get away with shagging anyone was because he was good at running away with his trousers ‘round his ankles.

James liked to joke that his attractiveness was the most hilarious joke ever thrown at the Black family.

Because Sirius was dreadfully good-looking and very aware of it; he utilized it to his advantage, but it did not change the fact that he was a poor gentleman, a flirt, a philanderer, and charming until it came down to commitment. As his friend had said before he’d gotten his portrait hexed off the family tree; _’Walburga doesn’t need to worry about you getting someone up the duff, she needs to worry about you settling down in the first place’._ Attractiveness would get him nowhere here; Sirius observed as Petunia recovered her bearings and looked at him like he was a disgusting slug that had somehow managed to stick her into his lap.

So, this was how Peter felt whenever he managed to corner some poor lass.

Wrinkling his nose Sirius ignored the situation as Mrs. Dursley climbed off of him with much finger-shaking and _’well-I-never!’_ s. Poor Peter; he’d never really talked to him in regards to the dating department; maybe he’d been remiss in that area.

“I’ll be calling the police I will!”

“What?” Sirius drawled, dragging another biscuit to him as Petunia cantered ‘round the kitchen table like putting some space between them would somehow make it less likely for her to end up in his lap. “With your _canary?_ ”

Petunia drew herself up to full height and affixed him with an eagle-eyed, striking glare that was not-unlike her sister’s. Really, Sirius reflected-savoring the biscuit as his unwilling host launched into a tirade regarding his _‘freakish, unnatural, ne'er-do-well’_ ness-Petunia would be close to fetching if she didn’t look so pinched and tossed off and like she’d spent the whole morning with her nose in someone else’s business. Her resemblance to Lily was next to nil, Sirius had never met Mr. and Mrs. Evans; though he expected he would at the wedding. James didn’t talk about them very often, but it seemed to be more out of consideration of respect for Lily’s privacy and personal life than for anything else. As far as he was aware, his bespectacled friend got along well with his future in-laws and they liked him well enough.

“You're a friend of that horrible _freak_ my sister is marrying!” Petunia was shrieking.

“Well you see” Sirius mumbled around the mouthful of biscuit before swallowing. “That is why I’ve come here to talk to you.”

When his host-adversary merely threw a dish towel at him, he caught it in one hand while idly licking a small trace of chocolate from the thumb of the other. The lady of the house made a disgusted noise and he grinned, biting down on the pad as he did so before shaking his wrist out perfunctorily.

“I want to hear all about Lily’s childhood” he said casually, leaning back against the bar. This, at least, made Petunia pause in her diatribe. Sensing his victory, Sirius let his smirk grow just a _little_ on the side of malicious, even if his intent for garnering such information was the exact opposite of malicious. “All her dirty little secrets” he murmured, tilting his head. “All I ever hear of Lily Evans are good things, I’m sure you’ve got some gems hidden away in that pretty head of yours.” Petunia seemed to waver between indecision and a desperate need to be recognized...to be heard. “Lily got to be a wizard” he pushed, leaning forward somewhat. “You didn’t; but that doesn’t mean you haven’t got a story to tell; I want to hear it.”

Petunia came ‘round the table slowly...but she still came. With a slight ache in his chest, Sirius reflected that this wasn’t necessarily the way he wanted to go about things, however he’d run into so many dead ends or open- _ended_ ends this was the only one left to him. The only one that wouldn’t risk his life or someone else’s life...in any case. And it was a long shot, a _very_ long shot; but it was still something worth looking into because otherwise he was just going to have to come clean to Dumbledore and seek his help. _Dumbledore_ however, seemed fairly alright with letting Sirius meander about on his lonesome….and that was what he was intending to do for now unless he was forced to do otherwise.

“My parents always loved Lily more than me” Petunia said bitterly, entering the kitchen again and standing directly parallel to Sirius before the counter. Crossing her arms and sniffing, she continued. “They never, and don’t ever see me like they see her.”

“That’s a good start” Sirius remarked, forcing himself to sound sympathetic. Swiveling about to face his host, he continued.

“...But first...do you happen to have some milk?”

* * *

It turned out that Petunia Dursley was mostly a giant, seething barrel of pent-up resentment.

Sitting at the island counter seven hours later, it had become apparent that _clearly_ Mr. and Mrs. Evans had never had a talk with their daughter regarding jealousy and rage. Petunia was about as subtle with her desire to be a witch as a drunken dragon trying to quietly dance the tango in tap-dancing shoes. In this, at least, Sirius could understand her resentment and bitterness. Being a wizard was absolutely brilliant, and he couldn’t imagine being the sibling left out from that world simply because his blood wasn’t right. It didn’t excuse her shrewish attitude or her cruelty, but he did understand, on a subliminal level, Petunia’s terrible pain due to being left out. And it wasn’t so much in words that he was given this impression, but in her posture, in the manner in which she seemed to shrink into herself despite her tone being scathing and scornful when she spoke of Lily getting her Hogwarts letter, in the way she glared at Sirius’ pockets like she expected a wand to jump from it at any moment. He wanted to tell her that that was, sometimes, just the way that magic worked; but he was fairly sure she had heard such words before, from someone with far more wisdom than him...and he didn’t think any good would come of it.

It seemed like there had been a point when Petunia loved Lily, or at least cared for her enough to look out for her when she was home.

She spoke somewhat bitterly about having to go to the standard Muggle school near their home; of the ‘hard work’ she’d done to get ‘proper grades.’ Sirius read into that and understood that Petunia had gone to school with the knowledge of her involvement in normalcy while her sister left through a wall in a train station to go to a castle she’d never seen and likely never would. She came home on the holidays with fantastical- _insane_ , so his host put it-tales of moving staircases and talking portraits. _’Just hogwash’_ Petunia spat, but Sirius could see the pain in her eyes, the distant longing. Lily came home but spent much of her summers away, at the park, sometimes with friends from school but hardly ever with Petunia. Sirius imagined it would be hard to spend time with anyone as bitter as Petunia, but he didn’t say so out loud.

“She was always hanging out with that greasy little boy” Petunia muttered, standing at the sliding glass doors and looking out into the yard.

“Snape” Sirius remarked, setting his now-empty glass of milk down as he did so. “Lived near here, didn’t he?”

“Oh yes” was the scornful return. “Wraith of a thing, never washed, could hear his father beating his mother from across the street.” Sirius flinched with the entirety of his being at this and ducked his head to hide it. “Absolutely _besotted_ with Lily, warned her away from him but she didn’t listen to me!” A laugh. “Learned her lesson at some point, I suppose. They were chums until her fifth year at that school for freaks, then they weren’t.” A shrug. “Not that I care.”

“Besotted?” Sirius murmured thoughtfully. “Didn’t know that part.”

“Oh, _completely_ ” Petunia continued, eyes narrowed in remembrance. “It was a bit sad, really….Lily was just having him on...he wasn’t a looker, that’s for certain.”

Sirius seriously doubted that Lily had ever been ‘having Snivellus on’ in the way that Petunia was insinuating she had. He was fairly sure that anyone who intended to have it on with Snivellus would need to gird their loins in iron and stand in a pentagram for protection, but there was no use saying it out loud. It did provide him with a suspect in regards to hearing the prophecy, however. Dumbledore had always been sincerely close-mouthed in that respect; and he had never thought to dig any further into it. Snape, shunned by Lily, rejected by the woman who he had loved for so long, surely that would give him enough motivation to turn to Voldemort? Even if that wasn’t the entirety of the reason, it would be a driving factor. If Lily and Snape had been friends since they were young, younger than receiving their letters; _and_ if Snape had loved Evans the whole time, up until fifth year….well...that would explain a lot of things. Narrowing his eyes and staring at the carpet, Sirius made a noise of discontent.

James had known.

He felt a bit stupid for not seeing it before, but it made sense when paired with the question of why James was always hounding Snape. And he’d never really questioned his bespectacled friend’s aims for singling out Snivellus at the time, but if James had seen Snape as a competitor, well, James Potter was James Potter. And James was competitive in all things; even things he could not necessarily have. Ignoring the jealousy that rose up to lap at his long-dead heartstrings, Sirius exhaled and closed his eyes. So, eventually, Lily must have felt pressured to choose; though how in nine hells she’d come out choosing James he had absolutely no idea. Their fifth year was the year for the Levicorpus incident...though of course there was terrible behavior on all sides, nobody was bloody innocent. Snape wasn’t a looker, but he was no trouble maker outside of when the Marauders had a go at him, and he was smart. James, of course, James was handsome, he wasn’t a genius but he was clever, he was witty and funny and, of course he was the best mate that-

“-Are you even paying _attention_ to me anymore?!”

Shaking himself from his reverie, Sirius blinked when he found himself nose to nose with Petunia, who seemed to have gotten much more comfortable with invading his personal space as time went by. Coughing and turning his head to the side to avoid looking straight down her blouse, Walburga Black’s eldest son raised an eyebrow at a ceramic sugar bowl shaped like a pig.

“No” he said honestly. “I got what I needed, thank you.”

If it were possible for someone to look as if they could spontaneously combust...well, he reflected, then Petunia Dursley would certainly appear she might. Lily’s sister proceeded to turn so red that she’d have given an heirloom a run for her money, and the only thing that saved him was the sound of the front door being jiggled. Both individuals standing in the tiny kitchen area froze before springing into motion. Petunia rushed about like a hen with its head removed, as if in her charging about she might somehow avoid the fact that there was a grown man in her house and her husband was coming home. Sirius leapt from the barstool; grabbed a handful of biscuits, and Apparated onto Dawes Road in Fulham. It was only when he was brushing crumbs off his trousers that he realized he’d failed to turn the canary back into a telly-phowne. Standing there for a moment with a biscuit in his mouth, he remained a bit at a loss for all but thirty seconds before shrugging and beginning to trudge down the way. It was early evening, he’d sacrificed most of his day to hear Petunia Dursley whine, she’d survive having a budgie in her kitchen.

He needed to find Severus Snape.

Specifically, he needed to find Severus Snape, and somehow convince him that if he ever heard a prophecy regarding Dark Lords and wee infants, then he should maybe take a few weeks off being a Death Eater and go fishing or something of the sort. Frowning and shoving the rest of his pilfered biscuits into a pocket, Sirius stopped outside the entrance to a junction that would lead him down to what he knew was a pub. It wasn’t that simple, of course. He couldn’t just warn Snape away, Snape didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him and Sirius could safely say that he returned the favor. There was also no _guarantee_ that snape was the individual who had betrayed the Potters. He really had no solid proof for that; but it was a start when it came to piecing things together. Realistically, he could also just find Trelawny. He’d been joking when he said he ought to kill her, but it would save him a significant amount of trouble if he could simply stop her from being hired, or perhaps stuff some cotton under the door to keep Snivellus from being snoopy and killing all his friends by accident.

_’Bloody hell.’_

Halfway to turning into the pub, Sirius backtracked and leaned against the wall just left of the junction, his eyes wide. Could _that_ have been why Snape rejoined the Order? Because he knew what he’d caused and he felt remorse? With his current knowledge in regards to Lily and his feelings for her, it made sense. It made more bloody sense than anything did currently. Right now, the only thing stopping him from saving Lily, James, and Harry was the fact that he didn’t know exactly _when_ the prophecy had been given; as in what time. And it wasn’t like he could just sneak up on, well, maybe. No, he was getting ahead of himself; he had to move slowly, and he couldn’t afford to be reckless. Snape had, at some point loved Lily Evans; perhaps he still loved her, maybe he loved her enough to regret inadvertently killing her. And all of that was a huge stack of assumptions piled upon assumptions.

This did not, of course, explain why everything went to hell.

Sirius had left his apartment early; with James still snoring on his couch and Remus asleep on the floor. He left too early to greet Peter, and far too early to pay attention to the fact that maybe he should have stuck around longer, to make sure that his friends could manage without him. It was early evening now, which meant that Remus had been alone all day long, or at least that he and James had been alone all day long, which might not bode well for his flat but was otherwise alright. He had his liquor in a good hiding place and there was at least enough food for two fully grown men to manage breakfast and lunch without using magic. When Sirius returned to the flat, however, Peter Pettigrew had taken up residence in his bedroom with his lady wife, James was still passed out on the couch, and Remus was eating an egg sandwich at the kitchen table like this was all perfectly normal. He gave Sirius a look that asked him where in the blue blazes he’d been all day, but he didn’t seem particularly motivated to press him for it in the face of food. Sirius would have been of the mind to echo such unspoken sentiments if he wasn’t full of biscuits and just a little bit irritated that he now had nowhere to sleep. He decided that things couldn’t get much stranger, or much more adverse.

He was wrong.

James woke up and decided to cook breakfast, and all of them had learned at some point that James making breakfast was not a good idea for anyone who wanted to live more than five seconds post-decision to make said breakfast. Lily came storming out of the flu while Sirius and Peter were wrestling over the frying pan and immediately made such good friends with Peter’s wife that Sirius began to fear that they might elope. James ate the rest of the eggs and they ended up ordering from a little Asian restaurant not far from his flat. Lily ran out to get it with Mrs. Pettigrew, insisting that they’d ‘best leave Muggle pick-up to a Muggle.’ This eventually petered down into it being ten at night; with Peter snoring in the guest room while his slightly-drunken wife giggled with an even more drunken Lily in front of the fire. James had decided Sirius was-once again-his pillow and Remus was reading a book in an armchair like everything was right with the world, and perhaps it was right but it was certainly odd.

Snape would not be easy to find.

He couldn’t turn to James with this… _certainly_ not with this, because James would just see Snape as more competition with his fears of his attraction confirmed. Sirius knew it was unlikely that access to Snape would be simple, but if his instincts were correct, he might just find him in Spinner’s End. A part of him wanted to ask Lily if she thought that perhaps this was a good avenue of approach, be he knew she would discourage him. Worse, she’d probably talk him out of it. He didn’t want to corner Snape, not really. And, truthfully, he didn’t need to talk to him in order to locate him. Sirius just needed to parse his whereabouts in order to keep tabs on him to make sure his friends were safe, and that no prophecies were being doled out without his knowing. Snape was clever...however, finding him undetected would be difficult if he was anywhere as paranoid as he had been at Hogwarts.

The part Petunia had mentioned regarding his mother beating his father didn’t sit easy with him...because it likely meant that Snape had born some of it too. Sirius knew what it was like to be the child that wondered at their own inadequacy in the face of their parent’s raised hand or fist, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone else. It was a hard life to live, because you never really understood where _you_ stood; if your parents didn’t like you, who possibly could. He’d gotten lucky having James as a friend...but Snape had never-by his knowledge-been so lucky in school. Slytherin friendships came at a price, and at the time there was much recruitment done in the ranks; it was friendship based on personal gain, and he hadn’t been able to see it before...but he could in the current moment. . There was, however, nothing he could do about it now, there was only what he needed to do. This much he knew, and he resolved to do so even as James muttered something unintelligible and drooled all over his jumper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I apologize if anything in this chapter feels disjointed in comparison with the last chapter. I really want to emphasize that it's a grey area for me when it comes to recollection of whether or not Sirius knew that Severus had been the one who heard the prophecy and told Voldemort. I really think...I don't know how he could have known, but if I'm wrong, I'm wrong, and I will correct it. 
> 
> Alright; so here's the deal with the update schedule; I'm going to try and move it to Saturday. This means I will try and give you another update BY Saturday so you aren't waiting around more than a week for the next chapter. I've been dealing with some familial issues, some severe health issues, and I've recently moved, quite abruptly, and I've had to continue to work while moving, if that makes sense. However, and yes, there's a however; I selected the area I'm moving to for social reasons; meaning I'm going to be out more, and I need to be. i.e.: this is _good_ for me, so I would ask for your patience, and I will try to be more consistent on this Saturday schedule in return. 
> 
> *if there are any grammar issues, I apologize, and I will fix them as soon as I can.


	8. Section 13 and Citations...Flitterbloom and Potatoes [Where's Regulus...and Won't You Look?]

Magic in the presence of a Muggle.

That was the official reason anyway, for busting down Sirius’ door in the middle of the night. The owner of said door found himself standing outside in the driving rain with two DMLE wizards pointing their wands at him; one with a very familiar-looking canary in his palm and the other with a story about a hysterical and ‘clearly traumatized’ Muggle and her ‘enraged husband’. Both of the aforementioned subjects apparently were spared Obliviation due to their association with Lily, but this did not stop him from having to explain things to Lily...and it was a miracle he got out of that discussion alive. As it was, he was ordered to return the budgie to its original state; and the agents seemed sincerely disappointed to discover the object they brought such a long way was nothing more sinister than a telly-phowne. Sirius was given a citation that he’d never be able to pay and many serious looks; as if he’d murdered someone’s hedgehog and turned it into a party favor.

James-of course-found the whole thing hilarious.

The fact that Sirius had gone to Privet Drive to _talk_ to Petunia escaped James because he was too busy laughing about the fact that his sister-in-law was traumatized to death by a canary and his best mate sitting in her kitchen eating her biscuits. Lupin was-expectedly-much more sternly disapproving, and when the members of the DMLE left he told Sirius in clipped, somewhat stressed tones that he had no business going where he’d gone and he _’had no idea what he was thinking.’_ Lily nodded along to this in a manner most enthusiastic, until Sirius made the great mistake of asking her if she thought her head might fly off her shoulders if she did it any faster and was promptly hexed twitchy-eared for the next fifteen minutes. This did not, of course, stop all four of them from getting into a row over various topics until the sky had started to turn light and James was so tired he lay down on the floor and continued to argue from there.

They all had differing perspectives.

James thought that there was _’no harm in any of it’_ , being James...and Sirius was really desperately fond of him for thinking that, but he insisted-equally desperately -that he had good intentions but nobody would believe him because he couldn’t tell anyone what those intentions were. Lupin, of course, thought that Sirius was just messing around and cocking up everything simply to do it and had no reservation or qualm with saying so. Lily, of course, thought that Sirius was _’disgusting’_ and _’immature’_ and Heavens, they were on bad terms again and all because he was actually trying not to be very terrible but he was never very successful at that in the end at all. Peter, of course, came down about two hours after they had gone to their respective corners and was disappointed that he’d ‘missed everything.’ It was such a striking resemblance to their comings and goings in Gryffindor Tower that the eldest son of the Black Family was struck with the violent urge to laugh hysterically because things were different but they really weren’t all that different.

Eventually, Peter’s wife came down and suggested they all go out for breakfast. They did, and of course then everyone found out about what Sirius had been doing for Mr. Pettigrew and Lily made perhaps the most astonishing, break-neck turnaround regarding his character that he’d ever seen anyone make. It was refreshing in a way that actually made him feel rather guilty, because he’d-yet again-only managed to do the right thing the second time around. James was averse to everyone else in the sense that while he was enthusiastic about the concept of him helping Mr. Pettigrew externally- _”well done, mate!”_ he’d said jovially-he was clearly not as convinced as everyone else that Sirius act of goodwill was merely that...goodwill.

Somewhat enragedly, Sirius wondered why nothing he did ever came without a heavy dose of suspicion.

 _”Because you’re a Marauder”_ a voice whispered smugly in the back of his mind as he stabbed at some breakfast potatoes. _”It’s not like you’ve got the reputation of an angel in silver garters, and that's just via association.”_

They ended up splitting the breakfast tab so many ways no one knew who they were paying for at the end of it, but they were all too stingy to foot the bill on themselves so it was a blind raffle. Sirius, of course, couldn’t pay for any of it, but he spelled the salt and pepper shakers to turn into a few quid and then made it his business to herd everyone out the door before they changed back into condiments in some poor server’s pocket.

“That’s robbery” Lily hissed into his ear as they spilled out onto the street with the jangle of the welcome bell.

“Oh, leave him be” James said glumly, giving Sirius a look that told him he didn’t agree with it either. “Mate...you didn’t tell me you were so hard up for cash...how’re you going to pay that citation?”

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, with very little money, a suddenly exorbitantly large amount of people that he thought he’d never see again surrounding him, and a feeling of distinct resignation, inadequacy, and exhaustion...Sirius Black apparated back to his flat without a word and began to gather things in order to get to Spinner’s End. James-of course-apparated hot on his arse and they ended up practically knocking one another over in their haste to snarl at each other before finding some common ground. This mostly involved James insisting that he was there to help Sirius no matter what and Sirius making vague noises of agreement in order to get him to stop talking. He was given somewhat of an impromptu break via Lily, who stormed in only to drag James through the flu and eventually Peter stuck his head in the front door to announce he was taking the lady wife shopping in a very timid voice. At that point, Sirius did not have any more patience left to him save to proffer an affronted grunt and turn on the spot.

It took him a few tries to Apparate to Spinner’s End.

Sometimes, he still isn’t entirely sure if it was the best move he’d ever made.

* * *

Getting into Spinner’s End was easier than Sirius thought it would be.

Ducking to avoid yet another whipping; humongous tendril of mutated Flitterbloom, he reflected that it was getting _out_ that was the problem. And, yes, he was probably in the top ten, if not the top four to two, of Severus Snape’s current archnemeses, but that was besides the bloody point. No one remotely sane kept a hidden jungle of biologically altered houseplants about to murder intruders. Fine; _maybe_ Snivellus would be just the type to turn an innocent succulent into a raving, green atrocity...but he did not feel inclined in his current state to give the wizard his due. The sky was grey; like a sheet of unforgiving steel cut on the brinks of boundlessness and the plant-like tentacles lacing over them were nets of botanical black-grey. In reality, the color of the Flitterbloom was closer to a vibrant green, but these were a dark, swamp-esque semblance of the aforementioned hue. They didn’t smell right; like a tuber left in a wet pot with its soil...abandoned to molder and it was this more than getting caught that threatened to overpower him.

Because dead and dying plants smelled to high heaven, and how something could have an aroma so putrid and yet still be alive was _baffling_. Sirius did not know how long he’d currently been running, only that the Flitterbloom seemed to be herding him in ever-tighter circles around the Snape house, and he was so bloody fucking _sure_ this was intentional. Every time he tried to turn to Apparate he tripped and busted his arse. And it was a ridiculous sort of tripping...the sort you do over thin air, but he’d done it _multiple times_ which told him that there was some type of charm in place in regards to that as well. There was a very good chance that Severus Snape was sitting in his living room, sipping a glass of brandy and watching him charge about the yard. Somewhat wryly, the dark-haired man wondered if he would just have to keep running until he collapsed and perished, or of he could somehow get out of this with all of his limbs intact.

This was an easier placed question than answer.

Easier placed because while Sirius had very good endurance, he was a not-so-very-former-Quidditch-player. And, sure, beaters were all brute strength and the like but he still had a good amount of stamina. That and he was _young_ ; quite newly young so he could go for a good long while and even after that there were spells that could _dis_ pell exhaustion. He had not, however, gotten a very good amount of sleep in the night prior, what with getting citations for turning tellyphowns into canaries and terrorizing his best mate’s sister in law. And he knew, for _sure_ now, that Snape was living in his old childhood home. _Why_ he was living in his old childhood home, Sirius had no idea. He knew what it was like to have to live in the place you’d been tortured...no person in their right mind would choose that kind of living space. Then again...it was also the last place anyone was very likely to look. Spinner’s end wasn’t exactly high quality real estate; the houses were run down or abandoned entirely. Lily’s parents’ house wasn’t visible from where he was-surrounded by writhing potted plants-but he was sure it would be more quaint in comparison.

The odds were simply too highly stacked against him for him to keep going indefinitely, and he wasn’t going to bother pushing himself to find out if he’d otherwise be successful with different methodology-!

-Turning into Padfoot at least proved to be somewhat of a confusion or deterrent. A bit wryly, Sirius reflected that he heavily doubted that Snape didn’t prepare for this, and he was right. The Flitterbloom retreated only to come back smelling worse than ever; to a degree that was positively painful in its offense to his canine senses but he was able to gain a directional advantage...at the very least. He might know where Severus Snape lived, but Severus Snape was still a Death Eater, and encroaching on a Death Eater’s living space was never a good idea without a backup plan and Sirius did not have one. Admittedly, he did not usually have one, but that was a moot point; there were still significant dangers involved in getting in as deep as he had and then not getting out in time. And, sure, maybe it was stupid to just flounce up the front walkway, but he’d at least expected to get a _word_ in. But no...he’d received no greeting for his knock, just a plant ‘round the ankle and it all went to hell. Leaping to avoid one of the aforementioned plants, Sirius barked angrily before trying to locate an opening in the writhing mass of greenery.

_”Finite Incantatem.”_

Snivellus always did have an annoying voice.

When they were very young, it was on the lispy, stumbling edge of things, but as they got older it grew more nasally and stick-up-the-arse-y. Sirius never did figure out how he managed to work past the stutter, especially surrounded with the Slytherins-and the Marauders, of course-but it was something he liked to bring up during his odd moments of bullying. Now, however, he was currently in the form of a dog, sitting on his haunches in Severus’ Snape’s yard. Almost immediately after the greasy git gave the command the Flitterbloom withdrew as if it had never been...and the smell began to dissipate as well soon after. His archnemesis did some more fancy-schmancy wand waving, and a slight sense of disorientation that had hovered over him since he’d arrived seemed to lift from his shoulders. Trotting over to where he’d left his clothes on the ground; Sirius shifted back and pulled them on as hastily as he could, watching as Snape advanced on him slowly, wand out.

This was not the Snape he’d known at Hogwarts...nor was it the Snape he’d known after escaping Azkaban.

There was a cruelty to his visage...a sense of something not-yet-learnt that glittered behind those obsidian eyes. Almost immediately, Sirius knew that this might not be Severus at his most dangerous, but this _was_ Severus when he’d have the least reserve in regards to killing him. Sirius was almost positive he was still a Death Eater; there was absolutely no way the prophecy would have been given at this point, and that meant that Snivellus’ friends were a mangy lot...they were unforgiving and Voldemort was ruthless, so of course a follower of his was going to be just as ruthless. And this was Snape...if there was anything Sirius had known before his death; it was that despite the fact he didn’t trust Snape, he was loyal in a way that very few others were capable of being loyal. Despite his anger at the man, Sirius had never ignored the fact that being a double-agent was a taxing process; that it had to have demanded much of him.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you, mutt”

The tone was even but the _rage_ behind those eyes was so palatable that he could very nearly taste it. And Sirius’ knee-jerk reaction was to go for his wand...to fight back because that was what he’d always done through their years in school. The drive to hex Severus was strong...and so the drive to seek retribution for what they had done to him was strong in Snape. And he knew that there was nothing he could really say to gain his acquiescence, it was more complicated than a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’...but surely they had to have something in common...Surely there was something in Severus that he could appeal to. James would have been able to think of something already; hell, Lily certainly would, but Sirius was an ‘act first, talk later’ sort of bloke. It was hard for him to be rational in situations that got his adrenaline going. Instead, he said the first thing that came to his head, and it wasn’t the most _important_ thing; it was just what he wanted to say...or rather...ask.

“Where’s Regulus?”

At this query, Snivellus faltered; clearly he hadn’t expected him to go for asking about his little brother. Maybe he’d expected taunts...the eldest of the Black brothers couldn’t rightly say. His adversary’s surprise was short lived, however, and soon there was a wand right back in his visage where it had been before.

“You barely gave him the time of day you filthy lying trai-!”

“-I _couldn’t_!” Sirius spat. “For _his_ safety as much as mine! Haven’t you ever had something you had to do shit things to protect?! Things that hurt them or hurt you, but you couldn’t explain because you _knew_ they wouldn’t bloody understand?! And even if you both _did_ understand you had to keep up that pretense, because otherwise where you got sorted would eat you alive?!”

Again, Snape faltered, but it was a much more pronounced falter this time.

“I don’t know where he is” he finally spat. “Slytherins don’t keep eternal tabs on one another, you imbecile.”

“Death Eaters, you mean” Sirius snorted, but raised his hands when that dark wand was pointed at him again. “Sorry. And look, I’m here for Lily, or to stop you from doing something fucking awful to Lily in the future.” When Snape looked, if possible, angrier and more confused, he sighed. “I know how you felt about her.” The _panic_ in Snivellus’ expression made his teeth hurt. “Crikey” Sirius muttered. “I’m not going to tell anyone, not that you’d believe me even now that I’ve said so. I’m just saying, if you’ve got any good intentions for Lily still...you’d best not be taking any prophecies to heart.”

“You sound stark raving mad, Black” Snape barked. “And believe me when I say that it’s not much of an improvement from your previous self.” A pause and a tilt of a greasy head. “You _are_ different-” _-fuck_ ; Sirius Occluded and his nemesis looked surprised. “There are not...many wizards who can do that...to the degree and swiftness you did.”

“There’s not many wizards whose mother banged the shit out of their minds if they thought they were trying to pull one on them” Sirius growled through gritted teeth, and took a sort of perverse pleasure in seeing Snape flinch. And the Marauder in him wanted to have a go at Snivellus about that too, about Tobias Snape, because now they had something in _common_ and he could not have something in common with greasy, ugly, hooked-nosed Snivellus. Realizing he possessed that kind of opinionated bias was neither comforting nor progressive.

“Here” Sirius snapped, stepping up to his opponent and pointing at his forehead. “I reckon if anyone can keep a secret, you can.”

Snape looked gobsmacked.

“I beg your pardon?!”

He groaned.

“Just look” he whinged. “I’m so tired of lugging this about by myself; and Dumbledore trusted you, fuck if I know why, but if you don’t look, if something’s not put right, Lily will die, James will die, a lot of people will die, and we’ll die or eventually die knowing there’s not anything we did to avoid it.”

“Lily’s going to die?!” Snape demanded.

“Just. Look.” Sirius growled through clenched teeth.

A few minutes seemed to stretch into several minutes, into half an hour, into hours, into days, into eternity. But eventually Severus did step forward to take him up on his offer. Sirius didn’t miss that his arm was shaking as it clutched his wand...like he wasn’t entirely sure if what he was doing was something he _wanted_ to do. A cleared throat, a shuffle of robes. Sirius knew, from personal experience, that blindness was worse than knowing the truth about someone’s intent; so he remained silent.

_”...Legilimens.:_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I was not entirely sure if I was going to get this out tonight, i came in very late. but I'm glad that I did. This is a shorter chapter, again, this will be switching updates to Saturday; and I will absolutely get it posted earlier than this crap. I'm sorry if this isnt fantastic; it's late here but i do try to keep my promises. I will get to edits tomorrow; but likely later; I won't be home the majority of the day.


	9. Chronological Ghosts and You Great Oaf [And Oh I missed You]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I'm sorry for the delay, I worked far, far too hard this week. have not been that stupidly tired since I made a promise to myself I wouldn't do that sort of work anymore; and last night reminded me why I don't, I do autopilot crap when I'm tired and it's not exactly ideal.
> 
>  **This is a potentially triggering chapter:** there are multiple mentions of child abuse. And it is not necessarily the graphic nature in which they are mentioned, but the way they are mentioned. Please read with care. This is not a happy chapter, there are a lot of sad memories in it. 
> 
> Uh, brief mentioning of het foreplay and solo backend fingering? ಠ_ಠ

Sirius was not unaccustomed to Legilimens.

He wasn’t...and he was, because it had been a very long time since he’d stared into his dear Mum’s eyes and let her rip his brain apart just because he’d been a little bit naughty. His father was, if possible, worse. Occluding was a skill he had learned heinously young, and for reasons that were not any good at all. When he was older, he was praised for it, and he allowed the praise because admitting _why_ he knew how to Occlude was shameful for him in the face of who he was supposed to be; Sirius Black, the Marauder and the troublemaker, James Potter’s partner in crime. Nobody needed to know that the same teenager who hung Harvey Biggins from the ceiling with an enchanted and magically enlarged stick of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum went home and had his mind flayed by whoever thought it was necessary over the summer. Holding his pain close to himself was easier than letting it out, or talking about it, even if James pressed him for it sometimes and Lupin _certainly_ did.

_’Trauma isn’t something to be ashamed of, Sirius.’_

But it was... it was to him because it was incohesive with the picture that he wanted to present to others. Even if sometimes that picture was just a barmy, absolutely mad expression of the chaos that seemed to constantly swim inside of him...it was still something he had control over. Mental health was not a popular topic in the wizarding world regardless, and he did not want to be a facet of an already-cloistered community when he could be reckless, when he could run himself ragged until he collapsed and nobody bothered to worry about him anymore. It was easier, or so he told himself in later years...in the years closer to James’ death, than facing the fact that he disliked himself to a degree unmanageable. Not because of what had happened to him, but because he hadn’t done anything about it. There were times when he wished that he had...particularly when he was older and Walburga was screaming at him from a portrait. It had taken him every ounce of discipline not to walk right back out the doors of Grimmauld place when he first saw it; every hair rose on the back of his neck the minute that earsplitting screech filled the air...but he learned to ignore it.

This all-of course-didn’t account for the fact that it had been a long time since Walburga had been crawling through his mind.

And it wasn’t Walburga, it was Snivellus, but he wasn’t entirely sure if either one was better than the other. It didn’t _feel_ better. Legillimens allowed for the caster to take an almost physical-feeling driver’s seat in the psyche. This left a target without the ability to Occlude-or with consent to the spell, as in Sirius’ case-accosted with the impression of whatever memory the caster collided into with their mind-mobile. People managed Legilimens differently, when it came to execution. Walburga, for example, would take her time crawling through his mind...peeling it slowly, like one might peel citrus. Orion, however, charged in like the forever-reeling, sometimes drunken tyrant that he was; ripping his way through recollection after recollection. It took Sirius _hours_ to recover from a session-those he couldn’t avoid-with his old man. If he was lucky he spent most of it over the loo; if he wasn’t lucky, he didn’t make it to the loo because he was curled up on the floor and Regulus was making sure he didn’t drown in his own vomit.

Severus felt different, but not any better.

 _Different_ in the sense that his advance was calculated on the head of a pin, and it was a _sharp_ pin. Snivellus knew exactly what he was looking for, but he had no hang ups in regards to shattering back other facets of Sirius’ mentality to get to it. It wasn’t the hack n’ slash ho hum catastrophe of his father, however. Rather, it was a calculated disassemblement that was somehow more painful than just getting on with it, and he’d have told him so if he knew how to move his mouth, but he didn’t. Snape was looking...and he seemed to be looking for _everything_ , and he’d not given him permission to look at everything; but he hadn’t exactly said otherwise either. More than that, he seemed determined to start as far back as he wished...as _intimately_ as he wished, and there was not a bloody thing he could do about it.

_-Sirius was twelve and looking at a butterfly perched on the windowsill of the Gryffindor dormitory and wondering if it was cold...there was a light dusting of snow on the grounds. James was sprawled on one of the velvet coverlets nattering about another prank; his socks had bludgers on them._

_”Reckon we can get out of Transfiguration if you hex me purple?”-_

There were times when he didn’t know if he was friends with James because he was important or because he was convenient.

_-He was bleeding in a corner of the house...in Grimmauld place. Crimson was running over his lip and Walburga was howling something awful in a room upstairs about how ‘filthy’ a child he was. There was a desperation in him to be **very quiet** , a wish to **disappear**. Holding a mirror...he was holding a mirror and a face was looking at him...a friendly face was looking at him silent and still, and sometimes he would nod encouragingly. James was so pale he looked ill. Every so often Sirius would shake and it was compulsive, it was uncontrollable and pale fingers would twitch compulsively to the surface of the mirror…_

_...but in the end they just ended up pushing those stupid glasses up that giant stupid nose-_

He knew now...of course, that that wasn’t true, but he had feared it because he felt like nothing in his life was permanent or definitive save for chaos.

_-”Oi Padfoot, grab his legs!”_

_Snape managed to kick him in the nose hard enough while he was making a lunge for him that it shattered the bridge. It wasn’t the first time someone had broken it, but it was the first time someone had broken it who wasn't his caregiver, and it made Sirius see **red**. He could remember that day without really seeing it. They’d shut Snivellus in the broom closet for eight hours. When they’d come back, Snivellus was right where they’d left him, quiet...calm. And at the time it enraged him...but he remembered, he remembered seeing the bloody crescents of residual nail marks in his palm...he remembered that they were scoured over pale half-moons of many, many others...and he remembered hating himself-just a little bit-over it when he realized what it meant-_

He’d promptly forgotten that; it didn’t fit the picture of Snivellus he had in his mind, and he was thirteen.

_”-Coming up hot on your left!”_

_Sirius was fifteen...on the pitch...up in the air; the wind was fierce that day, he had to wear more than one sweater. The bludger came up on him hard and he managed to knock it at Barney Bedford of Ravenclaw and it knocked him square sideways into the Seeker, who was inches away from catching the snitch. James caught it minutes later and the roar from the stands was deafening. Sirius landed and he came running up to him to clap him on the back and all Sirius could see was how that mad, riotous grin smeared with mud was for him...and only for him._

_And it was **beautiful** -_

Puberty left him entirely confused because he liked the girls...a lot, but he also liked James the way he liked girls. He liked James _more_ than he liked birds, really. There was a time where he avoided James because he couldn’t look at him without feeling like his trousers were getting too tight.

_-He was in a broom closet with Penny Wilkins, they were snogging and had been snogging a while. She was trying to get his tie off, he had a hand up her jumper, under her bra, and she was soft and warm and smelled nice. Her tits were heavy and round and just-right...yielding in his palm, nipples peaked under his touch-but the only thing running through his mind was that her chest should be flat, her hair short and messy, she ought to smell a little bit like clean laundry and a little bit like home, and she ought to be wearing barmy glasses-_

“That’s private!” he managed to gasp...but Severus’ psychic hold on him only tightened further, and he went under again.

_-Sirius was in his bed in Gryffindor tower with the hangings shut, a silencing charm, and a brand new lubrication charm. It was black as pitch...and he had one hand on his prick and the other fingering his arse. He twisted his wrist, his hips jerked, his tongue flickered over the edges of his lips and he imagined it caught with another...that the hands elsewhere-everywhere-weren’t his...that they were rough and calloused from holding a broom and that the voice in his ear whispering to him was low and husky...familiar and soothing and he was cumming, cumming so hard that his back was arching off the bed-legs sprawled-groaning deep and wrecked and filthy and the name on his lips was one that brought him laughter, friendship, ecstacy and **shame** -_

It was always funny, in a morbid way, that Sirius had seen Lily coming ‘round to James before James did.

_-”Evans!! Hey Evans!!”_

_Sirius graced Moony with their customary shared eyeroll as James ran off after the object of his sincere affections and pretended he wasn’t splitting apart. And he hadn’t said anything...he never had, but he was so green with envy of Lily that he’d called her ‘Evans’ up to the point that they graduated and it always seemed to hurt her a little bit. In his memories...these memories, ‘Evans’ turned and graced James with a scowl but there was a smile playing behind it that hadn’t been there before, and the only thing that he could think was that now, **now** he had no chance...that it was all over and he would never have James to himself again-_

Sometimes...he didn’t know how to be anything but impossible.

_-Drunk..he was so drunk and Remus had been telling him to slow down for hours, for hours and hours but they’d arranged this **months** ago...months in advance and James hadn’t showed up. He hadn’t, and when he’d tried to call him through the mirror it was just to get the thing turned on end and when it was he caught sight of a messy-haired wanker throwing a redheaded, giggling body onto **his** bed. _

_“Sirius I don’t think he meant to-” Peter began._

_“-Can it” he slurred, wiping his mouth with an unsteady hand before lifting the bottle of firewhiskey again. “S’not like you’ve anything good to say ever anyway.”_

_“I don’t think that’s fair” Lupin said in a clipped tone, standing by a turret next to the blanket they’d spread out on the Astronomy tower._

_“Yeah?” Sirius laughed, and the words were thick...heavy; slow and stupid on his tongue and his voice was too loud. “Suppose you’d know all about fair wouldn’t you, Moony?”_

_And it was cruel and wrong, and he felt sorry for it later, but it was his birthday and James was not there...and he was always there-_

He hadn’t meant to take the Whomping Willow incident so far.

_-He just wanted James to look at him, to smile at him with all that focus again. Leading Snivellus on a wild little goose chase was supposed to get him his attention again, was supposed to bring the ‘leader’ back into the fold...where he hadn’t been for so long chasing a stupid, redheaded tail. He hadn’t really thought through what could happen if Snape ran into Moony, he hadn’t. It was desperate, it was impulsive, and it was immature...but he had done it...it couldn’t be changed..._

_….And Sirius was standing in the Headmaster’s office with James looking at him like he didn’t know him anymore-_

Sometimes, the years seemed to crush him so heavily he was suffocating under the weight of his own idiocy. He wanted to stop fucking it all up...he did. But once he started...he didn’t know how to stop...and it was down, down, down.

_-James and Lily were standing under the wedding arch and kissing and the only thing Sirius could think was the **he** should be in her place. His robes were scratchy, but they were to the standards the bride-to-be had set for the color theme and he’d hated following it but he hated disappointing James more. He was halfway to pissed and Remus was looking at him like he knew too much but didn’t know how to comfort him at this point. He looked stupid, they all looked stupid and when Moony opened his mouth to say something he snarled another something worldess and incoherent right back that had his mate looking world-weary and sad and hopeless. And he was ashamed of how he felt, ashamed of being so jealous and so possessive but he didn’t know how to **stop** -_

Being a godfather made him straighten up, at least to the degree that his godson didn’t see him being very crooked and screwey.

_-Harry was cute and chubby and fat and Sirius was not entirely sure what to do with a baby. He’d come over because James had begged him, but he didn’t know how to hold him and he decided that babies were scary buggers._

_“Just hold him like this mate.”_

_“James, I will drop him” Sirius said flatly. “And then you’ll up and murder me.”_

_Harry was cute and looking at him like he was incredible, and Harry was not his son, but he’d have done anything to protect him because he was James’ son...and once those green eyes fixed to his he couldn’t look away. He held him carefully, because he was scared half to hell and James was leaning over and babbling to Harry, and Lily was looking at them in that strange way again._

_“I hope you’re going to be okay, Si” James murmured, and he laughed it off-_

He was never ‘alright’ again after that.

_-James was dead._

_He was dead, and his body was on the floor and lifeless and broken and Sirius was doing something- **something** confusing-something like putting that stupid head of hair in his lap and babbling and begging for him to look at him and crying all over his great big nose. And James would not look at him and he was shaking for it because he could not **live** in a world without him in it, because who could replace James? **Nobody**. He was so cold but Sirius hadn’t held him like this since they were young and gotten stuck up in the Owlery after dark and James was scared of all the eyes around them. He’d asked Sirius to hug him quite angrily, like somehow it was Sirius’ fault that he was practically pissing himself but Sirius didn’t mind...he didn’t because he was so grateful to have James as his friend. Hagrid was saying something to him, saying something he couldn’t understand...an apology, a word...a question, it was all a blur._

_And now James was gone...and Harry was crying and he’d stumbled, **staggered** to get to Harry, had begged Hagrid for Harry. He’d grown by then and he knew Sirius...reached for him and Sirius had never been good with holding him but he knew enough to know that he was terrified...that those giant, green eyes were glassy with fear and he was hurt-his forehead was cut open-and somehow he felt like that was his fault...this was all his fault. Chubby fingers held onto the collar of his leather biking jacket when Hagrid bent down to let them be close, like Sirius was the only bloody thing left on this earth and his choked sob seemed too loud, seemed somehow sick. It nearly broke him all over again, nearly, but he didn’t want to fall apart in front of Harry and so he didn’t. And Hagrid wouldn’t let him have him, and that hurt...it hurt more than he could say, but he gave him his bike anyway and they left him there in the wreck of that house with Jamie’s body and he didn’t know anything anymore but he knew...he knew…._

_He was going to **murder** Peter-_

Severus nearly pulled out at this point...he felt it. He could also feel his alarm, his fear, and his regret at having looked so far...but something in him must have insisted he see it through...because the next thing he knew-

_-There were two thousand thirty three cracks in his cell in Azkaban. More probably, it didn’t matter, he was wasting away and sometimes he wasn’t. He was cold sometimes and then he wasn’t. Sometimes he thought he could hear James talking to him, telling him to ‘buck up’ or some rubbish. Sometimes he was so sunk in the despair of it he thought he was dead and that he was looking down at himself. Sometimes when he was a dog he dreamed about running and running and running in a meadow wider than the English Channel... forever into green fields-_

_-He had to get to Peter, had to **kill** Peter but there was a green-eyed boy staring across the road at him from a bus stop and he looked **just like James** -_

_-Protecting Harry was a priority now, revenge could take a backburner. He had spent too much time chasing things that he couldn’t get back, but he could be there for Harry...that’s all that mattered-_

Life was not simple...life was not easy even if he sometimes wanted to pretend it was. In later years, it was harder for him to pretend that he could laugh it all away, but he’d tried to...because he didn’t want Harry to see how broken he was.

_-”You’ll have to stay here, Sirius. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s all we have...all you have, my boy._

_He wanted to tell Dumbledore he was barmy but he’d done so much for him at that point, at such risk and expense to himself that this seemed like a very small request. Protesting or refusing felt childish; he was tired, and he just wanted a place to put up his feet. It was raining, and the street was covered in a fog that reminded him of Azkaban. Looking up at the imposing but somehow simultaneously whimsical individual wearing star-spangled turquoise robes, Sirius whined but followed the headmaster into the dark...suffocating oppressiveness of his childhood home-_

Adults, he had discovered, didn’t talk to one another like children did...they weren’t honest, not really, and he had never particularly figured out how to leave that honesty behind and that expressiveness was seen as an immaturity or a side effect of Azkaban, but he was just trying to _survive._

_-Sirius was miserable and Snape was just as miserable as they snarled at each other over the table at Grimmauld place. They were both aged and embittered and hatred and pain had soured them beyond any hope of equanimity of reconciliation. He **hated** Snape with every bone in his body because he was a reminder of his failings, and he hated him for everything else because he could. Because it was easier than hating himself, Sirius had never been able to really look at himself, not truly-_

Looking at himself would have meant that he had to see himself for what he was...and he was all twisted up.

 _-Harry was having a hard time and he was worried and cooped up and pacing. Dumbledore was telling him to bide but he didn’t want to bide, and he felt useless. This was just another prison, just another reason to do nothing and he felt like he was wasting away...felt like he was stagnating when he could **help-!**_ -

But when it came to helping...sometimes he hurt more than he helped...more often than most he did. And sometimes he didn’t have to lift a finger to do it.

_-He wanted to apologize...he did...but he was falling through the veil, and there was someone crying out for him...it felt like several someones were crying out for him. These were memories he hadn’t looked into deeply...or perhaps Severus had peeled back a level of recollection he’d cut off from himself...but he was dying and floating away and someone was touching his shoulder, someone warm and safe with stupid hair was nuzzling into his hair and laughing and-_

_-” **Oh** , you great big oaf. I **missed** you-”_

There were tears flooding down his cheeks.

_-A room...a green room with no doors and spectral guests….a girl with blonde hair and **’you’re running out of time!’** and-_

And he was suddenly himself again.

Snape fled from his mind like a bat out of hell and Sirius gasped as if coming up for air; hoarse and ragged. Something snapped back into place and there was blood trickling from his nose...there was crimson flooding his lips and he was staggering. Snivellus was looking at him and his eyes were wild...almost deranged with fear and conflict and confusion but his stomach lurched once, twice and he nearly fell over as he was spectacularly ill in front of what was-at the moment-currently one of his worst enemies. He was ill until he was empty and even then he could only straighten enough to sway backwards.

“Seen what you wanted?” he rasped to the sky.

Snape made a strangled, horrible noise in the back of his throat.

He did...and Sirius crashed to the dirt and it all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * already found a grammar error that made me cross-eyed despite spending two hours looking for it otherwise. How does that work. so probably sporadically edited for horrendous grammar, as usual.


	10. Conversations Stuck to A Lazyboy [Dear Deers in Gardens and a Doomsday Heart]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I was trying to envision the personality of a younger, not quite as beleaguered Snape in this chapter; so if he 'feels' different, it's because this is a Snape that hasn't been through as much in regards to being a double agent and losing his only true friend in the world because of his decisions.

Sirius returned to consciousness sprawled atop the most codswallop chair in the world.

It was codswallop because it was uncomfortable and when he shifted in an attempt to move he nearly fell off and cracked his head on a side table. The springs gave way so quickly it was a miracle he’d caught himself. It was an ugly, plaid, scratchy sort of monstrosity; the kind he might expect to find in Moony's flat. Lifting his head, the dark-haired wizard took a moment to allow his vision to adjust before squinting at Snivellus, who was sitting in an armchair in slightly better condition next to a dingy fireplace. Casting his gaze about the house, Sirius acknowledged that the entire place was dingy, not unlike his flat but somehow worse because Snivellus had _grown up_ there and then elected to live there of his own accord. He’d not exactly grown up without home comforts, but Grimmauld Place was a house of horrors merely due to the residents and not due to the upholstery. There were were books, of course, and these, at least, looked recent. So did the shelves they sat upon. Somewhat grudgingly, Sirius made note of the fact that Snape’s old man didn’t seem like the type to read in any case, so of course they’d be new.

There was very little evidence of the place being lived in.

It was sad...really...but not unexpected. Not unexpected in the sense that he didn’t think being a Death Eater would allow anyone much time to make a home for themselves unless they were luxuriously rich. He wondered-somewhat grimly-how valuable at this point Snivellus was to Voldemort. If he _was_ the one who delivered the prophecy, then he had to have done it for recognition...or perhaps favor...or both. A sneer threatened to curl over his lips at the thought and so he pushed it down. Growing up in the Black family had its perks; he was fair to certain of the members of his family and those connected who served the Dark Lord. Narcissa, for example, most certainly would though she and her husband were older than him by a bit. There was Regulus...of course, and his heart seized a little bit at the concept alone. Despite the fact that they were estranged, no brother wanted to see _his_ brother netted into something so vile...but it wasn’t like his family was against the concept...and good little Regulus always did what Mummy told him to.

“My father used to belt me over that chair.”

Snape said this tonelessly, without blinking...without any indication of grief or acknowledgement of what he was saying. Without looking at him, the greasy-haired man stood in a fluid motion and began to pace towards the shelves of books. It didn’t seem like he had any reason to do so other than to move around somewhat...to settle his nerves. Tilting his head up, Snape appeared to consider a volume on a high shelf before he continued.

“It’s why the springs are loose.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. And he didn’t; because he understood, but he also understood that the parallels of their lives were entirely different from one another. Maybe at the beginning, they’d been somewhat similar, but not now. Sirius had had the opportunity to join Gryffindor; had fallen in with James and not exactly had a bad run of it. Snape had fallen in with whoever he could find and even then, sometimes that was not enough from what he’d been able to tell. He’d had Lily...of course, until he didn’t. And the harsh truth of it was not going to assuage the situation. Sirius had given everything he had to offer...and in this case that was quite a lot. Closing his eyes, he attempted to block out the recollection of _recollections_ that threatened to consume him.

What hurt him the most was the fact that James was such a facet of his psyche.

It wasn’t James’ fault, of course, but he had underestimated his ability to pine. Throughout his life...the undertone of his affection, his desire and his love for his best friend was a red thread-as red as their House colors-running through his entire existence. In the midst of his pranking, his tomfoolery and his bravado was the square fact that Sirius Black had always loved James Potter; and then he had loved him more, and more and _more_. For the git currently staring out the window at the yard to know that was excruciating...because now Snape had artillery, and he had quite a lot of it to use against him should he decide that helping him was not in his best interests. Sirius was good at Occlusion, but Snape was a-frankly-frighteningly adept Legillimens, and despite the fact that he’d tried to push him out in those moments, he’d still taken the time to dig for his dirtiest, darkest secrets. He didn’t know why, he was completely arsed over his purview anyhow.

“If you’re going to kill me” Sirius rasped. “Best get it over with quick.” Dark eyes cut from the window to him, and he attempted a half-hearted smirk. “I’m no fun to torture; ‘fraid my dear old Mum got to me too many times for me to really offer up a show.”

“Self pity’s an ugly color on you, Black” was the snide remark as a thin finger reached up to trace an equally thin mouth. “But you were always ugly.” A scoff and it was scathing; it cut to the quick and didn’t leave any room for questioning in regards to whether it was intentional or voluntary. “And now I know why.”

“Bully for you” Sirius croaked. “I didn’t ask you to look for all that.”

“That’s not my concern” was the silky smooth response. “My _concern_ is the fact that you have given me an immense amount of information that could further the Dark Lord’s cause.” A pause and Sirius struggled to right himself...patted his pockets for his wand only to find it missing. With a curse, he attempted to get up from the chair only to find himself somehow stuck to the coverlet. Struggling for a moment, he gave it up and glared hatefully at the smelly tosser smirking at him by the windowsill. “Little trick I learned from you and your...posse.” A slow...cat-like blink. “Really, I ought to thank you, all that time you spent hounding me _I_ spent trying to learn your position.” A tilt of the head that was predatory in its purposefulness. “And yet...you weren’t hounding me, were you? You were lovesick for Potter; so lovesick you’d do whatever he told you to.” A smirk. “Like the mangy, gormless mongrel you are.”

“You shut your yob” Sirius growled. “Or I’ll-”

“-Bellow at me from my father’s chair?” Snape cut in, his lip curling. “Like I haven’t seen that before, a hundred times.” Sirius swallowed thickly and cursed every deity he could think of. “No, you’ll sit quiet until I make up my mind.”

“Shouldn’t take you too long” Sirius spat, eyes stinging with panic and self-loathing. “Considering you haven’t got much of a-!”

The ' _langlock'_ sent his way was executed with the flick of an onyx wand. It was wordless, but it somehow cut to the quick more than something vocalized ever could. And he knew that he wasn’t exactly in a position to bargain, but the Marauder in him insisted that this was a situation he could fight his way out of-tooth and nail if he had to-even though he was immobile and voiceless. Instead, he was forced to blink at the walls and remind himself that he was an adult and that in this situation he had used all his cards up front, full hand, and now Snape could decide whether or not he wanted to let them fall or whether he wanted to help. He really didn’t _know enough_ about Snape to understand where his loyalties lay. Even during their school years he was never sure if he was clinging to his slimy Slytherin friends out of necessity or because he genuinely wanted to climb that corrupt social ladder to the top. Snape was ruthless, he knew that. And coming from a place where he was proffered revenge, wandless and ready, he was a sitting duck.

This Snape was different...admittedly, than the Snape of some of his recent memories.

He was softer around the edges...if someone like Snivellus could ever be called soft. There was a lack of a frenetic, calculated edge that an older Severus possessed that this one didn’t. Torture-he supposed dryly-and being a double agent for so many years would do that to someone. He wasn’t wearing his humongous, bat-like robes; but he wasn’t a professor either at this point. The garments he wore were still black and somewhat formal; but they weren’t the great, sweeping cloud of chiroptera-esque noir that he’d worn during his employ at Hogwarts. This was a Snivellus that had not learned, at least not directly, the consequences of his choice to follow Voldemort. Granted, he had now _seen_ them, be he didn’t know them...not really. His lack of foresight was no comfort, because it meant that if Snape had any doubts in regards to Sirius’ narrative he would turn him over in a heartbeat.

“You are treading on dangerous ground, Black.” Snape’s voice was, shockingly, a bit weary. As he spoke, he began to pace again. “And now you’ve put me on that same ground” was the bitter continuation. “Merely by _allowing_ me into your mind.” A pause and Snape looked abruptly anguished. “I cannot return to the Dark Lord with this information in my possession. He _will_ find it, and he will use it. None of us are free of his scrutiny.” A glare in his direction. “You and I are now the most valuable assets to his cause, and you have _no idea_ what he would do to you, to your friends, to those you hold dear, to Lil-” A pause and Snivellus’ expression twisted in a manner he’d not seen before...it took him a moment to understand that it was sincere anguish. “You fool.”

Another flick of that wand and Sirius found that he could move his tongue again.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to” he rasped.

“Dumbledore would have been a good start” was the snarled retort. “Anyone, _anyone_ but me. I cannot fulfill any purpose like this, you’ve damned both of us.”

 _’Damn your purpose all to hell’_ Sirius wanted to snap, but he held his tongue; bit down on it until he could taste copper.

“Why me?”

There was the shuffle of cloth, the sense of immediate-alarmingly immediately-close proximity and suddenly there was a sallow face nearly nose to nose with him where he was sat on the armchair.

_”Why?”_

“I knew you wouldn’t let your emotions take away from your focus” Sirius replied coldly. “And bloody hell does it suck to give you a compliment, but you’re not half bad at squirming your way out of a tight spot.” He swallowed. “And- _bollocks_ -I hate saying this, but you’re not half bad at keeping secrets and you’re loyal.” When Snape looked somewhat gobsmacked he grimaced. “It’s not a compliment, Snivellus, it’s an _observation_ , don’t go getting all high and mighty-”

“-Oh, I am _never_ in danger of an overinflated ego when you’re around, Black” Severus hissed, placing his palms on the arms of that ratty chair and shoving himself backwards in order to stalk in front of the fire. “Your ego is large enough for the both of us.”

“Right” Sirius said loudly, choosing to ignore the previous comment. “Well, if I’ve come all this way just to have you prance back off to Volde-”

“-I’m not going to go to the Dark Lord” was the tight, almost poisonous interruption. “You _daft vagrant_. I might believe in his vision, but I know a real memory from a false one-” Snape abruptly broke off and his eyes were slightly wild. “Do you understand” he said in a voice that was entirely opposite to his current bearing. “That every perspective in regards to the future- _the future of the wizarding world_ -that has been fed to me, I now have to disregard?” Halfway to opening his mouth to reply Sirius faltered and closed it...because no, he hadn’t thought of that. “I did not have _James Potter_ to lead me blindly into a sun-colored, asinine oblivion of positivism” Snivellus was snarling. “I followed what I was _given_ because it was better than nothing, and now I must accept that it is still _nothing_ in the face of what I would lose.”

“Lily” Sirius supplied unhelpfully.

For a moment, Severus looked so enraged that he was certain he was going to hex him.

“My _honor_!” was the practically roared response. “My integrity, and my belief in a system, that while broken, still has individuals with a certain potential. The Dark Lord would not suffer those who disagreed with him to live, and from your memories alone I can see that that opposition would be _vast_ but ultimately overwhelmed by the skills he has in his possession.” A pause, and at this point his nemesis seemed to lose all composure for he strode to a cabinet just to the left of Sirius and pulled it open in order to pour some amber liquid into a shot glass and throw it back. “I believe in revolution” was the flat, now-calm remark. “I do not believe in genocide, there are too few of us already. There’s no logic in it, no purpose.”

“Could have fooled me” Sirius muttered.

For a moment, Snivellus looked at him with an expression that was almost akin to pity.

“Even with those you loved slaughtered, you could not look past the fact that both of us had learned lessons of terrible, ingratiatingly large magnitude due to poor decisions” Snape said heavily. Those ugly, spider-like fingers twitched and poured another shot in a distracted manner. This time he didn’t toss it, preferring to swirl the liquid in the glass before taking a snip...gritting his teeth as it went down. “And, from the looks of my future self, nor could I.”

“We weren’t exactly best mates” laughed bitterly.

“That will never happen, Black” Snivellus muttered into his glass before downing the rest and leaving it. Pacing before Sirius, he eyed him warily before turning back to the fire. “And what do you propose I do with such information? I cannot stop the Dark Lord singlehandedly.”

“Well…” Sirius said stupidly, still stuck to the chair. “You could not give it to him, couldn’t you? Fairly straightforward innit?”

“Being a Death Eater doesn’t come with an option of resignation” Snape growled at the flames. A hand came up to clutch at a forearm compulsively. “Even if I fled, he would find me eventually.”

“So make yourself inconspicuous” he replied, struggling to sit up and swearing when the stitches in the chair yanked him back down again with an explosion of dust. “Don’t call attention to yourself.”

“The best way to do that is to continue as I have” Snivellus remarked, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “It’s not a simple question of blending in, it’s about finding a medium.”

“But does he have any weaknesses?” Sirius pressed, and flinched when greasyface looked at him with wide, still slightly unhinged eyes. “Y’know, because it’s not going to work out to just ignore the whole prophecy malarkey.”

“You’re assuming that I desire to aid you in this” Snape said silkily.

“Oh, c’mon” Sirius groaned. “You can’t intend to just _sit_ on it.”

“It might be safer if I did” was the muttered response. “I don’t care for you, Black. I don’t care for Potter.” A pause. “But I care about universal concepts, and I cannot ignore the inconsistencies between what the Dark Lord teaches and what he does. Even now, I find myself faced with situations that don’t necessarily sit well with me.”

Suspiciously forthcoming.

The whole thing...really; or maybe it was because Sirius didn’t have a wand and he could have done what he wanted with him whether he liked it or not. He really wasn’t entirely sure, only that despite his efforts, he wasn’t much better off than when he started. This vein of thought was cut short, however, when there was a great and horrible braying noise from the yard. Sirius recognized the cacophony immediately; deer had a somewhat limited vocal range. So when Snivellus hastened to the window and looked out he merely groaned and slunk lower in his seat while covering his face. Because _of course._

“There is a buck being chased about by my plants, Black” was the eventual comment.

“I bet there is” the aforementioned man muttered.

“Did you bring backup?”

“No” Sirius exclaimed after a moment, letting his hand drop. “It’s only that my best mate is constantly up my arsehole and I can’t shake his barmy-”

“-When did you become animagi?”

Somewhat thrown by the question, Sirius took a moment to do the math before answering. And it was a difficult question because they were, in all respects, unregistered. He didn’t think that Snape would turn them into the authorities...at least not now, but it was still something _private_. It was something the Marauders had always shared with one another and no one else. He wasn’t entirely sure if Lily even knew that they were animagi, though he didn’t know why she wouldn’t...only that James had never mentioned it to him or anyone else and neither had his fiancee.

“We were fifteen- _augh!_ ”

Sirius yelped as he was abruptly ejected from the armchair even as Snape turned towards the front door and began to sweep outside. Deciding that staying outside was better than being inside, he followed, though on slightly unsteady legs. “Look, don’t hurt him-”

“-I’m not going to hurt the subject of your...lengthy amorous musings” Snape said glibly and smirked as Sirius gave him a wildly panicked expression. A pause, and obsidian eyes glittered as they looked at each other. “You’re right” Snivellus continued. “I do know how to keep secrets.”

The door was thrown open even as Sirius sagged with barely-contained and not entirely trusting relief. Both men were gifted with the sight of an antlered buck charging by with several strands of weaving flitterbloom on his tail. It was all a rather ground-shaking thing; and Severus was looking at his ruined yard with an expression of defeat. At the sight of the door, that upright tail shifted jauntily before disappearing ‘round the back of the house again.

“You should go” Snape said calmly. “I will contact you.”

“You have my-” Sirius bit his cheek as he was handed his wand. “So...just like that? That easy?”

The almost-neutral expression on the visage before him immediately morphed into scorn.

“This is anything but easy” was the scathing reply. “You have, effectively, made everything _complicated_ , Black, and I won’t thank you for it.” A pause, and when Snape spoke again, it was clearly forced. “But I would rather live in difficulty than _delusion_ , and so I would thank you for pulling the wool from my eyes.” Snape waved his wand and the flitterbloom froze. “I will attempt to contact Regulus.”

“Thank you,” Sirius muttered.

“Don’t thank me, I think he might kn-”

“- _Sirius!_ ”

Sirius could do very little but attempt to catch himself on the door frame as James crashed into him. He was-granted-clothed, but only on the bottom, and his mind immediately shut off when the fingers of his free hand came in contact with lots of skin. It was, effectively, a little too much at once, and he took a moment to suck in several great lungfuls of air before focusing on the moment foisted upon him. A moment in which James Potter was drilling Snivellus for doing absolutely nothing.

“-Better not have done anything to him you right twat!”

“James” Sirius muttered.

“-know you were Lil’s friend but that won’t stopping me from hexing you-”

_-”James!”_

His friend broke off and stared at him expectantly and Sirius couldn’t help the exhausted laugh that left his mouth even as he tried to edge away, which was hard considering that he had nothing but the door frame to edge back into.

“M’okay” he muttered, clapping the bespectacled wizard on the shoulder firmly and ignoring how nice his hand looked on all that bareness. “Put your bloody shirt on.”

“You look terrible” James insisted grouchily, obeying regardless.

“If I do, it’s my own fault.” Sirius paused and realized he didn’t have any good reason for being there. “Did you _follow_ me here?!” he ventured, attempting to turn the focus away from himself.

“I think the better question is what you’re doing here mate” James said blandly, tugging his hemline down to his trousers.

“Black fell victim to my wards passing by” Snape supplied snidely.

“Yeah?” Prongs sneered back. “How convenient for you, eh Snivellus?”

“Leave it” Sirius snapped. “Doesn’t matter. I want to go back to the flat.” When it looked like his friend might disagree he let his expression turn slightly pleading. “Please, James.”

For a moment, it seemed like James wanted to argue, and Sirius really wished that he _wouldn’t_. He was tired, he was absolutely drained, and he didn’t think he could stop anyone from dueling if he tried. So when he received a grudging nod of assent in return he nearly collapsed with relief. Snape said something appropriately snarky in regards to their retreat, but he didn’t have the brain to hear it. Instead, he let himself be dragged to the perimeter of the wards and out by James, who gave him a strange look.

“You wouldn’t happen to be getting caught up in shady business, would you Pads?”

Sirius nearly laughed hysterically.

As it was, he merely fixed his friend with a hairy look.

“If I decide to join a cult you’ll be the first bloke I evangelize to Prongsy.”

And despite the worry in his eyes, James grinned. He grinned, and the world around that smile seemed rather lifeless and ordinary in comparison. Sirius swallowed and cut his eyes to the left to avoid turning as red as a tomato, but it didn’t stop the limitless, free-falling sensation that jettisoned through every bone in his body. Because whether he liked it or not...his feelings for James weren’t gallivanting into the ether. Sometimes, he wasn’t entirely sure if they weren’t getting _worse_. This was, effectively, one of the reasons he’d distanced himself in the timeline he’d already lived...because James was so _present_ and so much at once. When James smiled it was like the entire universe was swallowed by the sun...like everything was going to hell in a hand basket save for that one stupid goofy thing. And so it was that SIrius acknowledged that he’d at least made some progress, but Sirius also acknowledged that his heart was absolutely a write-off...  
  
...Sirius' heart had had James' name etched in it since he was twelve years old. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I hope this wasn't lackluster. I'm not entirely happy with it, but if I don't post it now, I won't. I'll delete it and rewrite it again. Right, there's no explicit mentioning in the books regarding whether or not Lily knew James/Sirius/Remus/Peter were animagi so I had to hedge a little bit there. I am so sorry I keep delaying this, work is murdering me. I keep writing angst I think, I am trying to get away from that. Thank you for reading, for your viewership, and your support, I do appreciate it. 
> 
> **R &R**


	11. Moving on and Strix on your Six [I'm not jolly but I'm serious, Sirius, what happened to you?]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Implied causal het at the very end but G in rating.
> 
> Posting this under the weather, and due to it I needed some help reading the screen, and it is very short.  
> I am very confident in its quality, I'm convinced my temporary beta is an angel.  
> But if there are, by some miracle, errors. I will get back to fixing them later.

**To:** _Sirius Arcturus Black  
**1678 Hemmington Way,  
New Westminster  
London, U.K.**_

_You are formally invited to the wedding of Lily J. Evans and James F. Potter, which will take place on Saturday, June 15 of 1979 at St Jerome's Church in Godric’s Hollow at 2:30 PM. Dinner will be served, and dancing will follow. Please RSVP by letter. We hope you will come and celebrate with us!_

Staring at the envelope but a few minutes more, Sirius made a heroic effort to clear his scattered thoughts before letting the delicate, transparent parchment flutter to the ground with his signed RSVP. It burst into a shower of flowers that smelled like lillies and he rummaged in his pocket for a cigarette before remembering that he’d given it up. Following the floral debacle was a faint but nevertheless familiar melody.

“Never took either of them for a _’Here Comes The Bride’_ sort of theme” Remus remarked from the chair opposite.

The former heir to the Black family fortune attempted a snort that came out more like a squashy wheeze. Moony gave him one of _those_ looks and he grumbled something vague before snatching up a copy of the Daily Prophet and hiding himself behind it. He knew why they’d chosen that theme; because Lily had a Muggle family and they were wanting to appeal to something neutral and not necessarily too flamboyant or ‘wizardly’ for the sake of the Dursleys. And it was a nice gesture, thoughtful, thoughtful enough that it made him feel like his teeth were rotting out of his head, but still thoughtful. It was very likely that it wouldn't be the song that walked Evans- _Lily_ -down the aisle, but the courtesy was clear. With a somewhat dismal sort of humor, SIrius wondered if Petunia had screamed as loudly at being showered with petals as she had at a tellyphowne being turned into a canary.

It was so _soon_.

And it wasn’t...not really, summer had just passed its zenith and they were sending out invitations for the summer to come. Frowning, he scrubbed his hand over his face and tried to remember if they’d come so soon in the prior timeline, but he couldn’t remember. And of course he wouldn’t; at this point he’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself it was a miracle that he’d shown up at the wedding at all. He was fairly sure that he’d only been best man because James had dragged him in for a fitting the day prior and then stayed at his flat for a bachelorette party that involved sitting around pretending that Sirius wasn’t half to barmy.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet” Emma cooed over her husband’s shoulder, Peter patted her hand.

 _“Innit?”_ Sirius said in a saccharine tone that got him dirty looks from all of the other present Marauders. Slinking lower in his chair, Sirius shuffled the paper a bit higher.

He didn’t remember them moving so fast last time.

Granted, the date was the same as far as he could recall, but the anticipatory flair was not. Biting his lip and glaring at a picture of Magical Margret’s Miraculous Mumble-Away, he wondered if it was his fault. He was more involved...of course...so therefore maybe they’d take it as having more support. Peter and Remus were there too and the fact that they were saved them from having to find out where they might be. And he shouldn’t look at it that way...he knew. _’Easier’_ was a relative term for his best mate and his fiancee’s positive outlook, and it wasn’t like they were galloping off into the sunset to be an unsavory couple...they were just getting married. _Sirius_ was the one making it complicated, and it had been complicated last time for whatever reason.

 _”Because your sorry arse was all James could afford to worry about”_ a nasty voice whispered in his mind.

Flinching, Sirius observed in his peripheral vision as Peter and Remus discussed the niceties of the invitation with all the muster two men could possibly manage. He envied them...really, their ability to just look at it as something that was bound to happen. Squinting at the paper ferociously, the dark-haired wizard tried to make peace with the fact that yes, he was going to have to move on. And in order to move on, he had to do so consciously. He had done himself-and James-the great disfavor of a one-sided amorousness. Being in love with your best mate when your best mate was not in love with you was like being in a relationship with someone who didn’t know you were in a relationship. It was a farce of its own making, a singularized making, even if it was unintentional and good-hearted. And he wasn’t just lying to James when he said ‘congrats mate’ or ‘good on you’; he was lying to himself. He had, effectively, too much on his plate to worry about anything otherwise at all.

Snape hadn’t been in contact-so far, over the course of a week-but he hadn’t particularly expected him to be. Despite his acquiescence to the fact that Sirius was telling the truth, it would take time to process what he’d been told. And _despite_ the fact that he could barely stand the greasy git, he still knew what it was like to lose something you’d truly believed in. Peter’s somewhat tremulous, insecure and rodenty laugh floated over to him and he grit his teeth and closed his eyes. Because despite the fact that there were times when Wormtail was entirely dislikeable, even at school, it was more due to the fact that he was a bit of a twit, entirely unwieldy, and completely insecure of himself.

There had been nothing about Peter that was malicious save for the fact that he’d been ambitious enough to make friends with James and Sirius in the first place. And...really, that ambition fed back into self-esteem...into the fact that alone...Peter was _scared_. And he’d known that, he had. He’d felt sorry for Peter...and maybe he’d known it, maybe he’d realized that his inclusion in the Mauraders circle was a thing somewhat based on pity...or maybe he’d figured it out. But despite that he’d trusted him, and so his betrayal was a blow...and it was a worse blow because he had trusted Wormtail more than he’d trusted himself. Not because he was a coward, but because despite his cowardice, he’d been loyal.

Snape’s situation was not one of disloyalty but that of vision; a bit like a shattered mirror. Sirius was, too, familiar with the acknowledgement that when you lost trust in something, or someone, you believed in, that breakage of trust also made you look at yourself and wonder if perhaps there was something wrong with your initial judgement. Because he had been _so wrong_ about being the Secret Keeper that two people he valued and respected-and in James’ case, loved-were dead as a result. And he’d never gotten the chance...really, to understand his own perspective in that area. Understanding..of course, led to the fact that he’d never forgiven himself; and that was far, far more complicated. Sirius was prone to keeping grudges, he didn’t kick around and act like he was alright with something because to him that was a dishonesty of character. But realistically, he also had to acknowledge that even in his mistakes, no matter how good-intentioned or how desperate...they were still mistakes; he was human.

Thinking that was entirely different than believing it.

“Sirius, you think so hard these days I’m starting to worry for you.”

Remus’ voice was teasing, but the eyes looking at him overtop the Prophet were on the wrong side of kind. And he _appreciated_ , it, he did. But sometimes it was hard not to hate himself for putting that look there in the first place.

“Better be careful Remus, I might out-brood you.”

“Oh” the aforementioned man scoffed. “Trust me, Padfoot, that will _never_ happen.” A pause. “I’m serious, however, are you alright?”

“No, I am” Sirius countered without missing a beat. When Remus looked unimpressed, he waved a hand. “I’m jolly mate.”

“You’re not” was the cranky reply. “But you’re so impossible I’m not entirely sure you’re worth the trouble.”

“Moony!” Sirius gasped, putting a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “I’m just _gutted_.”

“You’re impossible” Remus laughed quietly after a moment.

“What about you?” When he received nothing but a raised brow in return, Sirius elaborated. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m a werewolf, Sirius” was the deceptively lighthearted reply. “If I’m managing, I’m just smashing it out of the park.”

“Yeah, well _are_ you, managing, that is?”

“Right now” was the tight response. “Yes. But I’ll have to leave soon.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“If horses were wishes-”

“-Oh shove it” Sirius grumbled. “You know I hate that.” Putting the paper down, he propped his chin up on his knuckles and stared at the aged stitching atop the chair. “And you know we worry.”

“It’s too risky for me to get comfortable” Remus replied after a moment, watching as Emma came back in from the kitchen. “Especially in times like these.” Another long stretch of silence save for Wormtail talking to his missus. “I’m sorry to have to go, but I can’t stay. I appreciate you writing to me, though, I do. And I hope you continue to.” The sentence hung awkwardly for a moment before Moony turned to Peter. “What are your plans? Sirius has only got one bedroom, and he can’t sleep downstairs forever.”

Peter, of course, looked immediately horrified with himself.

“Oh Sirius” he exclaimed, taking out a handkerchief and wiping a suddenly torrentially sweaty brow. “You should have told me if I was impo-”

“You’re _not_ ” Sirius groaned. “You know you can come and stay whenever you like. S’what I wrote you for anyhow.”

“But you didn’t write for us to come and stay with you” Emma fretted in a manner not at all unlike her husband. “I _do_ feel quite terrible.”

“If you think my living room rug is the worst place I’ve slept you’ve not been listen-”

“-Peter, doesn’t your father have a guest room?” Remus interrupted before Sirius could get severely hacked off.

“He does” Peter said quietly, wringing his hands. “But...he’s just not got much money.” A wince and an apologetic glance at Sirius. “And I _know_ you haven’t either, but I didn’t know you’d only one bedroom Padfoot, and he worries enough already. I knew if we’d come he’d get up and make breakfast and spend what little he’s got making us comfortable and you just let it be. You don’t make grand gestures and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it from him, it’s just that I know he’ll be hurting for change after even if it was worth it to him. S’good enough that he sees us I reckon, y’know? He doesn’t have to be our housemaid.”

Against his will, Sirius felt a bit of the ice around the section of his heart pertaining to Wormtail thaw just a slight bit.

“It’s alright” he muttered awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not an imposition, and I know where you’re coming from.” Unable to help himself, he paused and smirked. “You’re sleeping in my _bed_ mate, how’s that not a grand gesture?” Remus made a low, despairing noise as Peter went white with the perceived indignity of it. “Don’t tell me that you’ve not sha-”

“-Maybe we should go out!” Remus interrupted loudly. Checking his watch in a greatly exaggerated gesture, he drove the nail in further by pretending to look fascinated with it. “It’s nearly eight, I bet there are all sorts of places here to spend an evening with friends.”

“Bit keen aren’t you mat-” Sirius began before being promptly kicked in the shins. “ _-Ow!_ Oi, now if you want to go out you’d best not be ruining my dancing feet.” Remus' face spasmed horribly even as Peter’s did the same and as if on cue they both dissolved into a series of somethings that sounded like snorts and laughter all at the same time. “I’m dead serious” he continued. “I can’t dance you around if you’ve broken all my toes.”

“You’re not dancing me anywhere” Remus scoffed. “And if your toes are broken you can always sway back and forth.”

“If you put a few drinks in me I’ll be excellent at that” Sirius replied. “Can do it atop a barstool even, like magic.” Peter got up to search for his shoes as Emy announced that she had to change, proceeding to disappear into the bedroom before Moony continued.

“It might be good for you.”

Despite the twinge in his chest, Sirius let his grin grow a bit wider.

“Are you _offering?_ ” he purred.

The look he received in return could have peeled all the paint off of Madam Puddifoot’s.

“I’m encouraging you” Remus said slowly, with the air of someone carefully choosing his words despite his thorough disdain. “And I’m doing it because I think you’re ready, and I think it’s time.”

He didn’t want to admit that he was right.

Sirius didn’t; but he also knew that Moony was very rarely wrong and even when he was wrong he was only very politely wrong and not in the worst of ways. And it wasn’t going to _kill_ him, even if he felt like it was going to. Watching as Remus scooped up a wayward teacup and vanished into the kitchen, he raised his wand in order to try and make some semblance of his outfit before deciding that it was good enough.They wouldn’t be going anywhere fancy and his shirt was only a little wrinkled; wrinkled these days was fashionable. Heaving himself up from his chair, he took a moment to grab his leather jacket from the coat rack in order to pull it on whilst slipping into his shoes. One of the core reasons he hadn’t gone to Moony with the whole debacle was, really, because Moony had enough to deal with in the first place. Lycanthropy was hard enough without having to worry about time travel. Sirius simply didn’t have the heart to lay it on him, and Snivellus was tough, possibly tougher than he was. He didn’t like comparables, but despite his mistreatment as a child he’d never wanted for food or money up ‘till he was disowned and Snape always looked like he was half falling out of his clothes. To be beaten and then wonder how you were going to eat was foreign to him. He’d come into the concept of poverty only recently, and it was of his own choosing...to some degree. It had not escaped him that Snivellus had never had the opportunity to choose.

“Where do you feel like?”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Sirius watched as Peter came tromping up with Emma close on his tail, a hand clasped behind him to hold hers. She was simply fetching, and he did not mean that as an insult. She was petite and fair-haired...slightly curly with a smattering of freckles. Her mouth always seemed to be on the verge of a smile or a kind word and her eyes were blue and laughing. Happy...she was just happy, and she was perfect for Peter because she would be kind to him, and she wouldn’t judge him or give him too rough a time. With an ache that left him feeling a bit sick, Sirius acknowledged that he didn’t know what had happened to her...before...though he had an idea. Someone like Emma wouldn’t have been alright with Voldemort’s agenda. She was just too good...and even though he knew beyond reason of a doubt that Peter would never ever hurt her, there was a good chance that Voldemort would have taken her out of the equation and blamed the opposition in order to gain his trust.

It would certainly be enough.

Because when Emma tugged at Peter’s hand to try to get his attention, to try and talk to him and fuss over his collar the look in Peter’s eyes was so bloody lovesick it made Sirius feel a little bit nauseous. Not because he was adverse to it, but because he knew what that sort of love felt like, and he knew what it was like to lose it, suddenly and abruptly, and for reasons he didn’t fully understand. And Emma fixed him up and he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, all awkward and somewhat chubby and she smiled and it was like a fucking field of daisies and lovehearts and he had to look away. They got themselves together and agreed on Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, which was awfully far, but not especially with apparition in mind. It was a smaller place, very dark, and very much without birds as far as he could tell. Remus had suggested it however, and it was nondescript and wouldn’t call much attention to themselves, so he agreed even if as he did so he resigned himself to a night of very good whiskey and very ancient atmosphere.

The pub itself was heavy on the wood paneling, a little bit musty, with latticed windows and your usual, heavily antiquated knickknacks up on the shelves. For all its antiquity, however, it was still a place of significant historical relevance, and so he felt like it was no blow to his ego at all to sit down and bleed out the hours. They ended up ordering a round and doing a bit of reminiscing before Peter got so into the niceties of going abroad that Sirius felt in danger of falling asleep; straight into his glass. And the _idea_ and location was exciting but Peter was not very exciting when it came to the retelling of it. By the time he got to the end of their visit to Cairo he felt perilously close to tears and Remus had that glazed look he adapted when he wasn’t paying attention but he wanted to look like he was. Emma-bless her heart-was still paying rapt attention and laughing at all the right moments and it all seemed genuine and Sirius wanted to ask her _what happened_ to her, but he knew it wouldn’t make any sense.

“Looks like you could use some company.”

The voice that spoke in his ear was pleasant, a bit velvety and slightly accented. Glancing to where Peter and Emma were now rather drunkenly giggling all over each other, Sirius swivelled on his stool and put on his best smile for the woman before him. The smile he received in return was equally genuine, but it was also casual and didn’t ask him to think too hard about whether or not he might regret encouraging it. And it wasn’t because he was cheap, but because it told him they were on equal footing, and they wouldn’t misunderstand each other. The Sirius of yore was not respectful, and he would not have cared...but he had learned too much of the consequences of flagrant dismissal of things to do so a second time around. People...despite his cynicism and general dislike of things too heavy, were still people. There had, at times, been moments when he wondered whether his Fate was just some sort of cosmic retribution for his inability to take anything with any small amount of consideration for those around him.

“You know what they say about assuming” he replied, tilting his head.

She smiled, and it was all pearly white teeth, playful eyes and a smooth, shimmering fall of dark hair over her blouse.

“I do” she replied. “But I don’t think I am.”

Sirius smiled, and tried not to look tired.

“Well then, you’d be right.”

She laughed, and raised a hand for the bartender.

“My name is Yvette.”

And so it was that Sirius found himself acquainted with Yvette, who was from Jaén but had been in London long enough to ‘lose most of my accent’. She’d come on an internship but decided to stay because she liked it. She was passionate about design, and she was certainly a Muggle but that didn’t matter to him. What was more important was that she was confident, and that he would not be doing her a disservice by getting to know her. Each of them were near to the same age, and they both liked motorcycles. They became loosely acquainted enough that when he kissed her it didn’t feel absolutely smarmy, and when he looked uncertain about taking things further she laughed and told him to say goodnight to his friends and then half-dragged him out of the pub. Remus managed to get in a sort of bewildered good-bye but his other companions were too busy snogging to notice. It was casual but respectful, with very clear boundaries and when he woke up the next morning he couldn’t bring himself to feel terrible about it.

There was a letter next to his head and Yvette was screaming about an owl in the kitchen. It was a very large owl-a Great Grey, to be specific-and he wasn’t entirely sure she bought his explanation of it having fell down the chimney but she kissed him on both cheeks when he very calmly took it to the front door and let it out and then promptly tossed him his clothes and told him it was good to meet him and _”Ciao!”_ It was fifteen minutes later that he was hopping down the street tugging one shoe on feeling a little bit less high-strung but not any less in love with James. So when he opened the letter to find it was from Snivellus, and that Regulus had expressed a sincere desire to avoid him due to the ‘risk to both of their lives and mission parameters’, he of course ignored it. Because despite his disownment, he was still a big brother. And despite his initial determination that he could not save him, he was not going to let Regulus die...

...Not this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I think we'll see some action in the next chapter, but I wanted to go into a bit of how Peter/Sirius/Remus interact. I know the casual sex is kind of on the eh side, but I tried to keep this as respectful as possible for both parties, and if you feel I wasn't, I'd be happy to change it. Mostly because Sirius would have some _serious_ pining to do until Harry, and I sort of wanted him to have something if not connective, then mutual and satisfying. We won't, however, being seeing Yvette again unless I get a wild hair and decide otherwise. I'm on the fence regarding Sirius riding it out or being... _Sirius_. I'm hoping for this to blow over before next weekend but if it doesn't I may take the weekend off; me and germs can't have a constant level playing field. Thanks for reading, and have a great week. 
> 
> Note: this does not change the intended pairing.


	12. Cupboards and Kreacher, Pork Pies and Eyes [You've gone all righteous on me, and I don't know why]

“Budge up you smelly tosser.” 

“ _Ouch_ -Hey!, I didn’t ask you to come now did I? Why don’t _you_ budge up?”

“No, but you could at least have the decency not to stick your arse- _oh_ -bloody hell Padfoot, you’ve got at least three centimeters on me and you’ve got elbows like carving knives!”

“ _Oomph_ , Slytherin’s slimy Spellotape Prongs! You know what? It’s your nose, it’s your humongous fucking nose-”

“-Your arse is humongous- _ow!_ ”

“Have another go at my arse, I dare you.” 

Nothing about his current situation had started out like this. 

With his cheek stuck to the wall in a hall closet somewhere in Grimmauld place, Sirius wryly reflected that it had not been _planned_ like this. That was saying something; things that he and James planned generally went off brilliantly. Hogwarts, of course, was different from his childhood home. Hogwarts was magically constructed to protect students, generally; mischief wasn’t technically a form of harm and so they were fairly well left to their own devices...moving staircases, poltergeist, and talking portraits aside. _Grimmauld Place_ , however, had been constructed with nothing but magical malice in mind...or so he was fairly well convinced. The portraits did not hem and haw disapprovingly, they screeched in indignation; the staircases didn’t so much move as they did try to break your neck, and there were no poltergeists but he was fairly sure there was a boggart somewhere. Sirius had never been foolish enough to pull pranks in the great wide open, but he’d done enough damage as a child that Walburga felt it necessary to put anti-jinx wards everywhere, and there were enough detection spells laid about that it was practically impossible to move without running into one. 

That hadn’t, of course, been enough to deter them. 

Not when it came to finding out about Regulus anyway, even if it was a bit of a tossup regarding whether they’d produce fruitful results, but it was worth a shot he figured. _’Worth a shot’_ spelled out just about all the bad-and some good-decisions he’d ever made. Maybe that should have been an indication of disaster. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t fight their way out if they really wanted to, but ideal circumstances involved a lack of engagement and they’d escaped the current residents by the skin of their teeth. Sirius could only be grateful that at least Bellatrix hadn’t been over to visit. They’d have been squarely outnumbered then, and he was fairly sure he could take his dear, devoted cousin on his own but not without both of them getting hardily banged up and so he was glad that they’d managed to avoid it. They weren’t out of the woods yet, of course, but they were out of sight even if it was _extremely_ uncomfortable and all his childhood fantasies were somehow being realized in the worst and wrongest of ways. Because he was in a closet with James, and James was talking about his arse but he was _complaining_ about it. 

Being warned away was approximate to a welcome wagon in his book. 

Sirius did not have a very large ‘book’, but if there was one thing he did not do, it was listen to other people telling him what _to_ do, and so he didn’t. He was-of course-aware that this was not the wisest way to guarantee his longevity, but there was something so _nice_ about looking a direct order in the face and throwing it a nice bird and gallivanting off in the exact direction he’d been told not to go. He supposed-with some forethought-that he’d learned that sort of behavior from James. When he was young he was aware of the values of obedience. Those values, of course, being that he didn’t get the belt if he did what he was told and was very nicely and stuck-uppishly pureblood. The first time James had spelled Peter’s curtains to sing a bawdy sea shanty every time Wormtail decided to get dressed he’d nearly had a heart attack...but he’d warmed up quick enough. Being James’ friend was worth far more than the consequences of getting in trouble, and those consequences were never harsh enough to deter him. 

Here, however, he could not blame James. 

He couldn’t, because it was all his idea, or at least his concept to sneak into Grimmauld place and rifle through Regulus’ things for any indicator of what he was up to; James was just backup. Said individual smashed his forehead into the space between his arm and back in order to muffle an explosive sneeze into his armpit and Sirius suppressed the urge to groan. Because he had _very explicitly_ stated that going alone might be a better idea. However, if he had gone alone, he would surely have been caught by now because _he_ was the one who’d run straight into a detection jinx on the second floor and then stood about like a barmy idiot until James had dragged him into the nearest available closet. He had been very sure that he knew exactly how to navigate his childhood home without getting caught, but it seemed that Walburga was aware of this as well, because she’d changed the wards all around and the level of mix-up was catastrophic. If they weren’t caught soon they would be eventually; the Anti-Apparition wards were solid and they would have to go out through the front door. 

Remus had left maybe three days ago. 

It was hard to say goodbye, but his heart was easier with it because they weren’t saying goodbye on tentative, half-spoken terms. They’d had some time to talk regarding things...including the Willow Incident, or so it had been dubbed. And, really, it wasn’t so much a talk as it was Sirius acknowledging his culpability and Remus looking embarrassed at this sincere contriteness. He was a bit shocked at himself, really. He didn’t think a SIrius who hadn’t spent years in Azkaban could have managed that level of genuinity. There were times when his youth caught up to him; like now. He’d not lost the ability to be circumspect in his time-travelling, but he was still young and he still had an indomitable urge to paint the town red. The aged Sirius inside him didn’t like this very much but there were times when he couldn’t entirely control it. As it was, he managed to half-joke, half-grin, half grovel his way through an apology that was as sincere as he could make it and then he and Moony had gone out for a ‘round and forgotten about it. Not in the sense that it was _gone_ but in the sense that it was over. Remus wasn’t the type to hold aggressive grudges, and he supposed that he ought to be thankful for it even if he wasn’t entirely sure if he deserved it. 

Peter and Emma left perhaps a few days later. 

It was strange to come home to an empty flat. He’d taken up an odd job working at a motorcycle repair shop but he didn’t think he was doing much in the realm of legitimate repairs. _’Reparo’_ , of course, when he was aware of all the parts of the machine, worked just as well, if not better. He was very popular with management and he was frankly so shocked that he’d managed to find a job that would stick he hadn’t had the opportunity to screw it up yet. Walking into his apartment to look at the chair where Wormtail and his wife normally sat cuddled in each others’ arms left him with a strange sense of nostalgia that was both abhorrent and a bit bittersweet. Because as much as he _hated_ what Peter had become, this was not the same Peter. _This_ Peter had left chattering excitedly about moving back to London and taking up his old job so he could be ‘closer to his mates’, and Sirius had shut the door feeling both elated and like he wanted to vomit spectacularly at how little effort his old self would have had to put in in order to make things just a little bit _different_. 

Sometimes he went over to see James and Lily. 

More than he used to, of course...but not so much that he got too comfortable. There was an air of tension between him when he was there that he was a bit unsure about. What with that and the early marriage announcement, things just felt...off. More often than not James would show up at his flat looking bedraggled and upset but refused to talk about it. Most of the time Sirius just poured him a drink and they played Exploding Snap until James fell asleep on his shoulder like he ought to be there and not somewhere _else_ , and he wanted to ask what he was playing at but he was verily afraid to know that answer. He’d taken to trying to date, but ‘dating’ to him was rather like a shotgun house; he was in one end and out the other before he’d managed to work up to any sort of level of emotional attachment. And there were a few birds that he genuinely _liked_ , as people, but he couldn’t see himself being with them on a steady basis. And they were pleasant, cogent encounters that left him satisfied and sometimes dead tired but they weren’t romantic. 

Maybe romance was a write-off. 

For him anyway, or so he figured. And why not? He’d never officially really _dated_ anyone at Hogwarts. Not on anything other than very loose and undefinable grounds. Sirius was always caught up in the next thing James was planning and that did not generally make potential girlfriends very happy. When the bloke who was supposed to be showering you with love-hearts and affection and flowers was constantly charging off willy-nilly to kick it with his best mate it didn’t exactly morph into this heart-stopping, chest fluttering thing. Even if things did seem like they were going somewhere potentially gooey James was always right ‘round the next corner asking his opinion on this or that and Sirius had never been able to prioritize anyone over James. And sure, he’d entertained the idea of just being entirely bent, but he couldn’t get it up for any fellow other than Prongs and that sometimes _pissed him off_ , but in other ways it felt special...sacred. Like the queer in him was just so very gay for Jamie and that was it and it was fine. There was no reason to have an identity crisis over the fact that his roommate gave him stiffies on a Big Ben level of hardness. James was just incurably hot, and neither of them could control it. 

That’s what he told himself anyway, and it kept him sane. 

Sane- _ish_.

The ‘raid Regulus’ bedroom’ idea had come up on a night where James had decided his flat was apparently nicer than his perfectly nice cottage and Sirius didn’t have the balls to kick him out. It was, at that point, slightly a routine and while he hated a routine he didn’t hate James and so he let him stay and drink his Dragon Barrel brandy and sometimes he drank himself and that was exactly how ridiculous ideas came into practice; with one drink too many and overzealous friends and perhaps-Prongs-is-miserable-but-he-isn’t-talking-about-it-so-fuck-all. Somehow he’d let it slip that he was looking for Regulus, and of course the standard response to that was _’well we’d better do something absolutely barmy then’_. Once they’d sobered they’d discussed it more thoroughly. The idea was still ridiculous, but the plan was not and so he told himself it would work, and of course it didn’t. 

The _idea_ was to get in and get out as fast as possible, but that went sideways so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get psychic whiplash. And maybe they should have planned their dates when they were absolutely sure his folks wouldn’t be home, but neither of them had accounted for that. And, really, contingency plans guaranteed lack of detection inhabitants aside, but of course that didn’t work either. Nothing about it worked, and so they were stuck in a broom closet while Walburga Black stormed through the halls, slamming every door as she went in order to check for intruders. Sirius was not a coward, but he was perhaps a little bit slightly traumatized even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, and so when he froze up in the hallway James had taken over and now it was only a matter of time before they were found and then-so his hysterical mind surmised-spanked within an inch of their lives. The consequences of breaking and entering as adults, of course, was worse; but he was beyond logical thought and well into panic. 

The Invisibility Cloak always had a way of being useful when he wasn’t considering it. 

So when James threw it over the both of them and then yanked him close by the hips the only thing Sirius could think was that James was _hugging_ him under a _blanket_ and that his _Mum_ was going to walk in and see him hugging a bloke under a blanket and then he wouldn’t just be disowned for being a disgrace he’d be disowned for being gay. She might exsanguinate them and use their blood to paint the parlor. Sirius was not thinking when he struggled, and James knew he wasn’t thinking so he just hugged him tighter, a thumb pressing down on the back of his neck-which, really, was an appeal to _Padfoot_ and not him, and that was not _fair_ but the dog in him submitted anyway-and he had a _problem_ up between himself and the wall and all the fight went out of him and he just closed his eyes and bit back a whimper. Because he could feel James’ breath on his neck and it was hot, and _Gods_ he was _so not over this_ but that was the moment the closet door was thrown open and he couldn’t think on it anymore. 

Walburga always wore black. 

She’d always done and Sirius imagined she would do so until the day she croaked. It was always the matronly, forbidding sort of black too, the kind that made you feel like you had a matron for a mother and not a _mother_. James had once remarked quite candidly that he did not know where he’d gotten his looks, because it was _’surely not from someone with a face like your Mum’s’_. Being the vain individual that he was, Sirius had agreed with him, and he only agreed with him more at the sight of her wrinkled, yellowed face inches away from him. He had vague memories of her not being so grey-haired, but they were vague memories from a long-forgotten childhood spent making sure that he hadn’t done something absolutely screwy. Sirius was eager to please in his loyalties, not unlike his Animagus, and at the time his loyalty had been to the woman before him currently eyeballing what would-to her-appear to be an empty broom cupboard. This close, he could smell her perfume; it reminded him of black velvet and giant moths. 

_“Orion!”_

He felt James flinch against his back at the shrill nature of the tone, but sagged nevertheless when the closet door was closed and those footsteps moved away even as his sire answered from somewhere else in the depths of the house. They remained...James with one arm still loosely clutching Sirius’ hip, and his nearness had never been more apparent and yet never had it been more unwelcome. 

“Alright?” 

Slow...measured...perfectly calm against the nape of his neck and Sirius wanted to _heel_ to it, wanted to submit to it automatically and tilt his head back so that James could mark him right atop the jugular but he knew that such a gesture would be fruitless; perhaps alarming even and so he didn’t. He was hunched over atop a cabinet and his back was going to hurt like blue fire the next day, and they still hadn’t gotten to Regulus’ room. Swallowing, the dark-haired wizard took some time to gather his wits before replying. 

“M’fine” Sirius replied, then cleared his throat. “Get off, wanker.”

“I just saved our skins” James protested, backing off just the same but keeping the Cloak up for good measure. “Some thanks I get.” 

“Don’t let it go to your head” he retorted, straightening slightly and fumbling for the doorknob. “We’ve not even finished what we came here for.” 

Grimmauld Place was eternally dark. 

It was, to some degree, nicer than it had been before it had taken to gathering dust and doxies, but more horrific in others. The ancient Black relics that hung on the walls were sinister in the amount of dark magical energy they exuded. Even the sickly green wall paper-dotted with similarly colored _fleur-de-lis_ -was somehow vicious in its bearing. The candles that hung in brackets burned with a cold, blue light; magically induced flame that he knew would go out when all the residents were asleep, and light again when they woke. It was...somehow, off-color...distorted from his ‘newer’ memories of the place stripped down and rid, to some degree, of its evil pall. He’d forgotten how oppressive it was...how consistently downspirited he felt as a child roaming such empty corridors that also somehow seemed so full. Out of silent agreement, they kept the Cloak on, and for whatever stroke of luck they had, they didn’t trip any more wards. James stepped on his toes so many times he lost count but he was still enough used to it from Hogwarts that he knew better than to yelp about it. 

Regulus’ room was down only a bit further and in an alcove to the left. The door had been spelled shut, but Sirius had enough experience breaking and entering that it posed no challenge. Opening the door provided them with a sight he was used to; there were piles of books, of course, but they were orderly. Regulus had always been neater than Sirius...Regulus had always been significantly _more_ of what their parents wanted than Sirius and the contrast was sharp. The bed was made to perfection; he had distinct memories of getting rapped across the knuckles for not turning down his sheets correctly. Everything was as he remembered it, save for the few things he’d purchased his brother as gifts...and he could only assume Walburga had removed them. 

“Blimey” James muttered. “Could give Remus a run for his organizational money.” When Sirius threw him a wide-eyed look he rolled his own. “Already done a silencing charm mate.” 

It was, in all respects, not a very fruitful search. 

Regulus was an academic and it was apparent in his rampant collection of every book he could get his hands on but none of them were suggestive of anything sinister or ‘mission’-oriented. It took them an hour before they had a good dismantling-replacing system between them, and another hour to go through everything else. There were some Dark Arts books, but nothing you couldn’t buy in a shop...nothing criminal or out of the ordinary. Of course, there were indicators of the Death Eater lifestyle that made Sirius want to punch a few walls, or himself, for ignoring. These too, however, were standard. All the while they were forced to keep an eye out for Kreacher. The residents of the house might have been oblivious to their presence, but a house elf was possibly three times as keen, and he and Sirius had never gotten on. By the time they moved to the desk Sirius had given up all manner of semblance of inconspicuity and dumped the contents on the floor. None of it was remarkable save for a picture of a cave on the sea that he pocketed and a few scraps of paper that looked to be torn from a book. These had been shoved at the back of the drawer and stuck in an envelope. Otherwise there were only bits and bobs of things...nothing you wouldn’t expect from the desk of someone Regulus’ age. He’d still be in school...Sirius acknowledged bitterly. Or he would be when the semester started; he didn’t know exactly when. He also didn’t know when exactly Regulus’ loyalties changed...or why. Theoretically, he’d assumed it was because of Voldemort’s blatant cruelty, but that cruelty wasn’t in its budding stages even now. For all he knew, ‘mission’ meant ‘Death Eater’ mission. Or perhaps Regulus was just in too deep and now he had to operate from where he was standing...he really had no bloody clue. 

“D’you think maybe he doesn’t want to be saved?” 

James murmured this as he sat on the bed shuffling through a pile of scribbled notes. He’d put his stupid glasses up on his forehead like he was wont to do, and Sirius ached to run his hands through that messy hair. He’d never had James over, mostly because his parents hated the Potter family for being Muggle lovers, and he didn’t want that vitriol spilling over onto his friend. But having him there was a singular experience...bizarre almost...like looking at a ghost. Because how many times had he sat on Regulus’ bed...old and tired...and wished for things to be different. He’d sat on the left side, where Padfoot was sitting...almost at the same spot, and listened to nonexistent ghosts in the walls. 

“I don’t know,” Sirius replied weakly, bracing his hands on the desk before him. “I just know I’ve got to do something.” 

“You don’t _have_ to do any of this” James said sharply, and when he didn’t continue, Sirius looked at him. Those eyes were as shrewd as ever, even without the glasses on. “C’mon, Si, you’re...you’ve gone all righteous on me.” When the other man scoffed he returned the favor. “Don’t play me for a fool mate. You’ve got some sort of agenda, and I’m not saying I don’t approve of it, s’better than what you were doing before, but it seems like it’s taking a lot out of you. You’ve helped Peter, you’ve helped his old man, you’re _trying_ to help Regulus, and you’re talking to Snivellus.”

“Maybe I just feel like I’ve run out of time to be a twat” Sirius muttered. 

“That’s a pork pie” was the wry response. “A big, giant pork pie like the kind Mum makes, but full of malarkey.” 

Maybe it was lucky that at that point Kreacher popped in and then set the whole thing to hell. 

Maybe it was...because standing there...looking at James...Sirius very nearly spilled it all. Because it was such a natural...simple sight; him lounging on that bed frame like he owned it, Sirius leaning on the desk because technically, he _had_ owned it at some point. He wanted to tell him, and when that blasted house elf raised the alarm he turned to escape with a feeling of sincere relief because James could _not afford_ to be dragged into this. There was somewhat of a struggle to get to the door of the room; house elf magic was no joke, and it nearly caught them both. In the hall they were faced with Walburga, who cursed the very sight of them on the tail end of a hex that sailed between their stumbling forms and sent all the hair on his neck straight up. There was no time to throw the cloak back on and he could only be grateful that Orion operated with a cane these days, which meant that they could catch him on the stairs and blow straight past him with the lady of the house on their heels. He was forced to bring the chandelier in the foyer down in order to give them some breathing room when it came to escape...particularly when it came to waiting for a good time to exit. 

Stumbling out into a grey, rainy afternoon street, both of them made for the park on the opposite side of the road and didn’t stop until they had a good distance put between them and the house of horrible memories behind them. Standing beneath a tree, Sirius watched as James whooped at the sky...high off the adrenaline rush, but the only thing he could think was that he would never set foot in that house again if his life depended on it. And when James hugged him he returned it because it felt like an anchor that he needed...even if it lasted overtly long...he ignored it. They apparated into magical diner somewhere across London and ate a late and overtly hasty lunch while spelling the teacups to shout rude things at whoever was drinking them. And Sirius laughed because it felt good, because sometimes you had to do something a little crazy and a little bitter to burn off some of that niggling despair. The papers turned out to be a few pages from an unnamed book discussing immortality and wizard-dom. The picture had nothing but a question mark on the back…

….a question mark and the word _’maybe’_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I would have had this out sooner but I had to send my computer away for a few days. I'm not...entirely clear regarding when Regulus decided to go against Voldemort. There is some...canonical vagueness there regarding when Regulus got out of school, when he defected, and when he died. So, in this fic, it's safe to say that Regulus is still in school, but he's also a Death Eater at this point, and that he's not defected yet but he has questions. I apologize if there is any weirdness regarding canonical plot here. There was another note I wanted to add for this but I thought of it when I was writing and then it promptly went in the cranial trashbin. If I remember it I'll put it in. I've gone over this but I still needed some help reading the screen so again, my horrendous grammar mistakes. Thanks for reading.


	13. Illusions of Domesticity and Letters in Lime [Who put that grief in your eyes? It should be a crime]

“James, go home.” 

Sirius mumbled this over the back of the couch while trying to patch up a piece of moldering plaster on the ceiling. He had to squint in order to get a right angle with it; every time he flicked his wand it sent a shower of what had to be asbestos atop him and he was forced to go wash his face. Structural spells were never his strong suit. He could always, of course, have asked Prongs, Prongs was around alarmingly much lately. Specifically, he was around so much that he’d grown accustomed to coming downstairs to see him sleeping on his couch. And he didn’t _mind_ it because he didn’t mind the company, not really. It wasn’t like James got in his way when he was off to work or when he was trying to have a good wank but he also wasn’t exactly telling him _why_ he was there. 

At first he assumed it was some sort of petty revenge. 

_’Sirius doesn’t tell me a thing so I’m going to hang off his arse and not tell him a bloody thing either.’_ If he’d been younger, he’d have just went with that and they’d have ended up brawling, but he wasn’t younger and he was-or so he’d like to think-a little more observant, and he could observe that James was miserable. It wasn’t the sulky, lanky, teenagery sort of miserable either, it was a full-body, _I don’t know what to do with my sorry self_ sort of miserable and Sirius was slightly more shrewd but he’d never been good at comforting people, let alone James...who always seemed to be full of indomitable forward motion no matter what the earth threw at him. _James_ had always been the one to make Sirius feel better, and he felt a bit useless now that the tables were turned. 

“‘Jus five more minutes Si.” 

Garbled, his voice; tired. Sirius didn’t think he should be tired, he’d been having a kip for a good forty five and he’d slept twelve hours the night before. James wasn’t the type-from his memory-to sleep more than seven or eight. It was all disturbing and unnatural and Sirius had other things to do but whenever he left the house for something other than work James tagged along like a miserable, messy-haired shadow and he just didn’t have the heart to tell him to sod off. Sometimes he’d try; meaning he’d turn around, get a faceful of giant eyes behind stupid glasses, and then turn right back ‘round and keep walking to wherever he was going. It was impeding his progress and it was _certainly_ impeding his ability to get laid even if he didn’t necessarily mind it because James was there being downright domestic. 

“E-Lily’s going to wonder if you’re eloping with me” Sirius grumbled before flicking his wand again. 

There was a great, rumbling and cracking noise and several pebble-sized chunks of plaster decided to adorn themselves atop his head before James drew his wand and-without opening his eyes-performed a fancy bit of wandwork and the ceiling was good as new. 

“Could’ve helped me with that ages ag- _choo!_ ” 

Familiar, entirely _too familiar_ lips quirked into a somewhat-smile even as James continued to stare at the back of his eyelids. 

“Wanted to see if you could manage it.” Cracking one lid, Prongs looked dourly at him. “Why d’you stay in this rubbish heap anyhow?”

“Because it’s all I’ve got” the older man complained, tucking his wand away and going to the kitchen to wash his face again. “And I’m not moving back in with your folks.” 

Things had been relatively ordinary otherwise. 

As ordinary as they possibly could be considering the imminent rise of a Dark Lord, in any case. Both of them had heard from Remus a few days after the full, but the letter was short, almost curt in nature. It was clear Moony was still recovering from the effects of the transformation and didn’t want to be bothered. He would, Sirius surmised, be out of the country at this point. He’d spoken of it for a while, though not at length, when he was still with them in London and while Sirius couldn’t blame him, he still missed his company when the flat was empty. Sirius had deliberated for some time in regards to just giving Moony the flat, but he knew he would barely use it. There was too much going on for him to stay in one place, and that was not going to stop any time soon. It would become harder for Remus to seek employment the more he wandered, however, and Sirius worried for him. 

Peter had made good on his decision to move. 

Really, it had taken him less than two weeks to go home and arrange for his things to be moved back to London. They’d settled somewhere in Streatham; James and Lily had been over for dinner, but Sirius hadn’t had the time to go and he wanted to give them some days to settle in. He wasn’t, personally, one for housecalls as it was. The idea of it all was somewhat formal and it tended to give him indigestion if he really wanted to be honest about it. In his mind, the picture of sitting down at a homely dining table while Emma served dinner was pleasant, but listening to Wormtail prattle on about his reclaimed Ministry position was downright terrifying. And he _liked_ Wormtail, as much as he was able to like him, but domesticity wasn’t his cup of tea and he was perfectly happy to leave it to the future Potters. Lily and Emma got along so well it was a miracle they hadn’t started knitting tea cozies for one another, and he’d assumed that it would be good for James to have a married Marauder close; someone he could relate to, in any case. 

But James was here. 

James was _still_ here, and he did not show any inkling of being ready to leave any time soon. Indeed, he’d already started to drift off atop the couch and Sirius walloped him atop the head with the Prophet in order to get him to wake up; both physically and psychologically. He was getting too attached to James...really. It was too nice having him there and if he stayed any longer Sirius wouldn’t keep nattering on for him to leave. He’d get comfortable, and Godric knew that if Sirius got comfortable he would start acting like a partner and not a best mate...he was hedging that line already. Serving James breakfast was just a little too past the definition of ‘friends’ for him, especially when James was all gloriously messy-haired from sleeping and sitting at the kitchen table looking like he was going to fall atop it at any moment. It was such a glorious picture in his mind that he’d never get rid of it. And their days were easy whenever no one had to run anywhere. They spent them going to the park to kick about the pigeons, or traipsing up a ways to grab a bite to eat at a local pub. 

It was downright _couplish_.

It was driving him _**crazy**_.

Their search for Regulus had turned up mostly cold. The picture found in his drawer with the words ‘maybe’ written on it was too obscure for Apparition via visualization alone and Sirius knew of no one he trusted enough to ask if they knew the place. His memory was long, but he knew somehow instinctively that he’d never been there and possibly would never be. The pages ripped from the book regarding immortality were more interesting, especially when they came from a Death Eater. Voldemort was, notoriously, impossible to beat in a duel. He’d never dueled him directly, and maybe that was a good thing because he was fairly sure he’d never have won, but there were by all accounts incidents mentioned where Tom Riddle should certainly have died but he didn’t. This wasn’t taking the whole affair with Harry into consideration. A spell to suspend, or extend mortality and fortitude...perhaps something like the Philosopher’s Stone...though he knew that to be in Flamel’s possession at this point. Voldemort’s features were horribly altered, so it had to be something that took as much as it gave. 

He knew of no such thing. 

James let out a thunderous snore and Sirius glared at him for a moment before flopping into the chair opposite the couch close to the fire, the one Peter and Emma normally chose. By all accounts, Regulus should still have been in school. He was not entirely sure how recruitment worked in the Hogwarts setting, but he knew that his little brother would _have_ to return to school at some point during the fall. That was, presumably, the only time he would have in which to talk to him, and he therefore would need a solid reason to visit Hogwarts. 

Maybe he should have asked Dumbledore for help. 

Groaning softly, Sirius buried his face in his hands. Enlisting the Headmaster’s help felt like using his last ace in the hole. He had no doubt that the Wizengamot’s prized member was already concocting his own purpose for his return back in time, if he hadn’t implemented it already. One thing he had truly resented Albus for was his inability to reveal his full purpose until just the right moment. Not because his plans weren’t usually brilliant, but because people got hurt along the way, even if it was for a good cause. Sirius believed in choice...he believed in choice above many things because as a youth he had seen himself possessing very little future save for furthering the family name. It was a helpless feeling...thinking you were entirely without voice when it came to your purpose, and he did not want to be another pawn in a mechanism he had no real vision of. Lifting his head, he was privy to the sight of the fire gone momentarily green; flames flaring brightly for mere seconds so a letter could be spat out on the rug. 

He could recognize Snivellus’ handwriting by now.

Forcing himself from his chair to pick up the missive, Sirius acknowledged that he didn’t necessarily _like_ knowing it...but there was nothing for it. The missive was brief, it did not ask after his well-being, but he didn’t necessarily expect it. Instead, it gave a time and place to meet in the evening; 9PM to be exact at Rosehill Park East. There was no further information, offered, and the dark-haired wizard burned the missive hastily...having no desire to leave it lying around. When he rose to turn, however, it was to find James watching him with an unreadable expression. He opened his mouth to dismiss it, but the younger man beat him to the punch. 

“Lily’s pregnant.” 

_Panic_ , was his immediate response. A blind panic, because the date was all wrong, it was _all wrong_ and what if it wasn’t _Harry?!_ Standing there like a useless lump, his jaw hanging practically to the floor, Sirius acknowledged that he had not planned for this, and maybe he should have. There were going to be anomalies. Granted, he hadn’t expected for such a _huge_ anomaly. Because not only did this _negate_ the prophecy, this had the propensity to push the prophecy sooner. He didn’t know which one it was, but the idea was both exhilarating and terrifying. 

“Congrats?” he managed to croak. James snorted and heaved himself upwards, rubbed his eyes like he was trying to shake the disbelief from them himself and then stared at the floor. “Is that why you’ve been hanging about?” 

A shake of a messy head. 

“I’m going to be a rubbish father.” 

Swallowing, trying to clear his racing thoughts, Sirius took a step forward before stopping. Not because he didn’t trust James, but because he didn’t trust himself. 

“James, you’re going to be a brilliant Dad” he said hoarsely. 

Dark eyes caught his and held them shrewdly. 

“You say that like you know it” James replied bitterly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “You say _a lot_ of things lately like you already know them.” Lowering his hand, his friend refocused on him, and the lost nature of his bearing left Sirius a little taken aback. “I feel like you’ve gone...not _gone_ Si, I feel like you’ve left me somewhere, and gone on for a while, and now you’re back and I know you, but I don’t...not really.” Those stupid glasses glittered in the firelight as James rose and closed the space between them...stopping just shy of him and tilting his head. “There’s...pain in you I don’t know, Pads. I don’t like it, I really bloody don’t; I want to tear the head off whoever put it there.” 

Sirius thought that if his heart was made of glass, now was the moment it would have shattered all over the floor. There was a hotness behind his eyes he didn’t like at all, and he averted his gaze to the fire to avoid looking at the person before him. 

“I put it there” he said thickly. “Through being a sod, with no credit to myself, and no care for friends.” 

There was silence between them for a while, and it was a wild, roiling silence. It was filled with panic, with things unsaid...with things said too much but not said yet in this timeline...perhaps never. 

“Sometimes” James muttered. “You look at me like I’m a ghost.” 

Sirius laughed and it was hysterical, entirely unintentional, and completely honest. Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He laughed until he was not laughing, and it took him awhile to realize that he was blubbering and he only realized it because James went blurry but also very, close and he was trying to dab at his nose with that stupid hankerchief and he verily wanted to sock him silly. Or kiss him silly. Either would do but he did neither. He just stood there while his wanker of a friend wiped his face like he was in first year again and his mother hadn’t told him goodbye before he got on the train. They stood there a long while, until he’d settled, and only then did James speak again. 

“Tell me something” he murmured. “Did I die?” When Sirius looked at him incredulously, Prongs only gave him a dour expression in return. “After this, did I die? Did I leave you behind?” 

Sirius was too broken, at this point, to lie to him anymore. 

“Yes.” 

He couldn’t have said how it was admitted, only that it felt like something dark and cracked open and bleeding inside of him. James was still looking at him, and he wished he would _stop_ , because it felt like he was looking at every broken...twisted facet of him. 

“Is it because you didn’t do something, or because you did something?” 

Screwing up his face, Sirius clenched his fists. 

“Both” he forced out through gritted teeth. 

Familiar, all-too familiar fingers grasped his chin, made him look into those stupid eyes...at that _stupid nose_. 

“Did you regret it?” James whispered. 

It was a little like falling...like baring one’s sins in a darkened, unclear confessional; where neither priest nor pulpit were pure and all things black and growing were seeded into a terrible sense of longing and waste. 

“Always” Sirius choked. Without really thinking, he reached up to grab strands of that messy, dark hair with both hands-perhaps a little too hard-and tugged until they were but inches apart. It was not a romantic gesture, it was brotherly...a knocking of foreheads...a bottomless togetherness. “ _Always_.” 

James hugged him, pulled him close and gathered him into a spine-crushing hug and Sirius shook because if he didn’t he’d start with the waterworks again and he was thoroughly over that. Instead he just grasped the back of a collared shirt like he was drowning, because sometimes it felt like he was. 

“I’m here now, tosser” Prongs muttered into his hair. “Until the end, don’t go grieving something you haven’t lost yet this time. Won’t get you anywhere.” 

Sirius nodded because he didn’t trust himself to talk. They stood there awhile...until he felt more centered, at the very least. It was interesting, at times, that James knew exactly when to push and he knew exactly when to pull back. No one had ever known him so well, and he despaired at the notion of finding someone who could see him just as clearly. 

“Just out of curiosity” James commented, straightening his shirt while Sirius tried to gauge how red his face was by feel. “How old are you exactly?” 

“Thirty four” Sirius muttered, and his friend looked a bit gobsmacked. 

“Crikey, you’re _aged_ ” was the good natured comment, and he socked him in the arm. 

“You should have seen me after Az-” he stopped, and took a deep shuddering breath. James’ face was grim. “After everything” he finished lamely. “I was no looker.” 

“I find that hard to believe” his friend replied in a voice deceptively light. When Sirius gave him a weary look, he smiled, though it was tireder than usual. “You don’t need to tell me everything now, Sirius.” 

Some of the tension bled out of him. 

_Some_ of it, not all, because there was still so much before him...but at least he wasn’t _lying_ anymore. Or at least not lying by omission. Instead, Sirius grinned as best he could. 

“Do you find me attractive, Jamie?” 

“Only a blind, sideways, teakettle would find you unattractive” was the bland response. “And don’t go letting that inflate your ego, you might explode. I can acknowledge aesthetic without buggering it, unlike you, so shut your yob.” 

They laughed, and some of the tension eased. 

“I’ve got somewhere to be tonight,” Sirius said at length. 

“And you don’t want me to follow” James surmised, his voice dour. 

“I’d rather you didn’t” the older man said wearily. “You should go home James, Lily has to be worried about you. Or tossed off at you. S’not right, leaving her as she is.” 

Prongs seemed to deflate. 

“I know it” he muttered, “I just don’t know how to face it.” 

“With your loins girded” Sirius said with mock, solemnity. Sobering, he placed a hand on James’ shoulder. “I’m serious, James. Go.” 

Those dark eyes regarded him again, and this time there was something different in them...something he couldn’t name...and didn’t want to. 

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” James murmured. 

Those eyes flickered to his lips, and Sirius stepped back as if stung, because _no_. 

“No” he said, and then said it again more firmly. “ _Go_. And congratulations.” 

A long time they stood, again wordless, again with things unspoken, but perhaps not forever. Sirius squashed that hope, immediately, because his heart could not afford it. When James stepped towards the Floo, he told himself what he was doing was right, even if it felt wrong...even if it felt like he was pulling his better half off of him...marrow and bone...blood all over the floor. 

“Sirius” James said quietly, standing before a roaring green inferno. “Just so you know, you’re not all looks.” When Sirius just blinked stupidly, he smiled, and it was a little sad. “You’re not the only one carrying barmy secrets, so don’t get all uppity with yourself.” 

He was gone. 

In a blink, he was gone, and Sirius was left with the conclusion that he didn’t know _anything_. 

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Apologize for getting this out so late, and so short, we'll have another one this weekend if things are ideal. Dealing with some health issues again along with an abruptly exploding schedule. This chapter pretty much wrote itself. Blame the characters; I sure do. Thank you for being patient. Will possibly, as usual, be edited for any horrendous spelling and grammar errors I've missed. Wishing you wellness, and a great remainder of the week.


	14. Snark and a park, Duels in an alleyway [Two hearts in the dark]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** : temporary dismemberment.

“If I’ve come this distance to have you daydream, Black, this was a sincere and utter waste of time.”

Lily and James were expecting.

That’s the only thing that was really running through his mind at the current moment. That and the fact that James had essentially propositioned his lips a few minutes before Floo’ing out. Sirius supposed that the idea should have him more excited than he was, but instead he was left feeling entirely confused. Confused...and a little bit distrustful, because if James had figured out his whole time-travelling spiel, he might have known about his attraction the whole time.

Prongs had a history of being flirtatious, and while the idea of James flirting with him was not unappealing, the idea of him flirting with him alone in his flat with his pregnant wife likely wondering where he was was not appealing. Because there was a very good chance that James was just having one of those expectant-father crises and Sirius was a very easy target because he was head over heels for him. It might not have been his _intent_ , but it was still a bleak possibility that he kept in the back of his mind.

The park was cold and dark; not in the slightest bit inviting.

Sirius wasn’t terribly familiar with the London area beyond a certain point; certainly not down to areas like Sutton. Darkness made everything even less familiar, and not in a good way. So much of it just bled from one area into the other to such a large degree that he normally stuck to non-Muggle areas when he could manage it. This didn’t, of course, leave him with many options outside of Diagon Alley, though there were a few wizarding pubs, bookshops, tearooms, and other run of the mill storefronts scattered innocuously here and there throughout the city.

The further one got away from London, the less likely they were to run into anything wizarding related unless it was an entirely non-Muggle township. These were hidden, warded areas carefully protected by those who lived there. Otherwise, one was more wont to run into households than communities; small as the wizarding community itself was in the first place.

His time in Grimmauld place had left him with a sincere unease regarding being out and about in general.

Azkaban, of course, hadn’t helped that along at all. When he was with others he could relax, but on his own he was jumpy, and being around Snivellus did not make him less jumpy. Really, he wouldn’t have been surprised to come all this way just to run into a vengeful hex. The logical facet of his noggin processes knew this was rubbish thinking. Just because _he_ was irrational did not mean that Snape was. Snape knew exactly what was at risk, and likely knew exactly how far he was willing to insert himself into the situation before it became too much. Lily’s childhood playmate might not have been a sweetheart, but he was logical, calculated, and didn’t play for kicks. This gave Sirius very little comfort meeting him in total darkness, but at least he had his wand-or so he reasoned-until he’d been walking the park for fifteen minutes and then practically ran into Snape standing next to a tree. He could-he’d reflected crankily-apply to be a Hogwarts professor, hall monitoring would be a cinch for- _oh._

“You were talking about how complicated everything is” Sirius muttered, staring at the dim glow of a halogen street light some ways off from them.

Black eyebrows shot up to a greasy hairline.

“ _Complicated_ is making light of it” Snape sneered. “I very nearly revealed myself during a gathering the other week. The only thing that spared me was that the Dark Lord lost interest and decided that the Cruciatus was more entertaining than picking my brain to shreds. Whatever you’ve come to do, you need to expedite it. There are people whose lives are in jeopardy the longer you tarry.”

“Your life, you mean” Sirius grumbled.

 _”Many_ lives” was the hissed response, and he flinched not out of fear but because he knew he was right. “Mine notwithstanding.” A pause. “Unlike you, I don’t operate under the parameters of self preservation, I operate for the sake of a whole or for nothing at all.”

“If I care so bloody little” Sirius replied through gritted teeth. “Why in nine hells do you think I bothered passing up dying to come back to this rubbish?”

Snivellus looked, if possible, even more unimpressed. He was wearing a cloak tonight, black of course, and he looked like a younger version of his Potions’ Master self. Already thin lips thinned further, in exasperation or disapproval, he couldn’t tell.

“Also unlike you” was the derisive response. “I don’t let my emotions stop me from being objective. You’re distracted Black, you possess the attention span of a flobberworm.”

“And you’re just the _pristine_ example of objectivity” Sirius snorted. “Skull and snake on your arm and a lifetime of servitude.”

“There is a distinct difference” was the sneering reply. “Between a mistake mitigated by a desire to act and _lackadaisical piddling_.”

“Why don’t you just throw a dictionary at me then?” Sirius growled. “If this puts you in so much fucking agony.”

“I would” Snape leered. “But I have zero faith in the fact that it would do you a whit of good.”

They were ribbing each other.

Watching as Snivellus glared him down, Sirius reflected that they wouldn’t get anywhere like this...if they were even lucky enough to get anywhere at all. There was too much animosity between them to pop up and have a chit chat. He hadn’t been expecting it, of course, but he’d at least expected one of them to remain somewhat civil. Just because Snape was insulting him all fancy-like did not mean he was not taking the piss out of him.

“Well why don’t we look at it this way” he snapped finally. “Straight to the problem, yea? How do you kill your unholy boss?”

“Another thing that is a strong indicator of your lack of intelligence is your willinginess to declare intent to murder.”

“I’m not a bloody _lunatic_ ” Sirius snarled. “Weren’t you the one picking around my brain?! Didn’t you see how _not even the killing curse_ kept him down forever?! He killed people before that, _loads_ of people. And then, sure, Harry stopped him to some degree, but then he got right back up and started killing _more_ people. What’re you hoping for here, Snivellus?! That he’s going to spend some time in a cell in Azkaban and recant his ways? What do you think will happen if we capture him?! Best case scenario, he gets sent to the North Sea, some fanatic breaks him out, or he just effing seduces all the dementors-”

“-You _cannot seduce_ dark creatures Black, though I know you likely think _you_ can-”

“-Just can it” Sirius snapped. “You know what I’m about. He’s impossible to keep around. S’like he’s got rabies but he was born with it and there’s not anything a soul can do about it. S’not about finding him a good home it’s about the fact that he’s not meant to be homed because he would infect his keepers or kill them.”

Snape stared at him for a good solid minute before looking at the sky like it might have some answers.

“Only you could somehow make this about dogs” he remarked to the clouds.

“I’m _not_ ” Sirius seethed before Severus cut him off.

“I know that,” he said with an air of exasperation. “And I have viewed your memories, reviewed them on my own the best of my ability. I understand the dilemma of your position but you are failing to understand the dilemma of mine.” A slow, ingratiating sneer. “Perhaps you would do well to look into the history of Tom Riddle before you seek to...eradicate him.” When Sirius gave him a dour look, he scoffed. “Oh come now, Black, don’t tell me you don’t see the value of _comprehending_ your enemy before you destroy him. It could, realistically, be the one thing that keeps him from defeating you. Even Dumbledore, perish the thought that he’d hear me utter such a thing, understands that. He understood it with Grindelwald, though perhaps not entirely of his own willingness to do so.”

He had a good point.

Standing in near-total darkness with his temper shot absolutely to hell, Sirius was capable of acknowledging the fact that Snivellus was not wrong. He ultimately knew very little about Voldemort beyond his desire to dominate the wizarding world and his inherent fear of a prophecy that promised his imminent doom should he fail to avert it. If he went after him with no other prior knowledge he would be, effectively, putting him in the very poor position many of his other victims had put themselves; up against an enemy far more complex than surface-level definition. The Dark Lord was-of course-equally guilty of this, but there was the sole fact that Sirius had already died once and he didn’t fancy his chances of being given a second chance at a second chance. He could fantasize about storming whatever ‘keep’ he envisioned in his mind, but grand-scale battles very rarely could be counted victories even when the ‘good side’ won out. There was always death, and there was always loss.

Sirius did not think he could conscience much more loss.

“You think we’ll find a weakness if we look into his past” he settled with finally, the words feeling forced and reluctant despite the fact that he knew they were true.

“Yes” Snivellus replied. “And I think there’s only one person on this planet that knows any more about Tom Riddle than we do.”

“You want to go to Dumbledore” Sirius said grimly.

“No, _you_ want to go to Dumbledore” Snape snarked straight back. “I cannot afford to compromise my-”

Whatever he could not afford to compromise was lost in the fact that the clearing where they were gathered lit up like an American holiday had been dropped on it. Really, it lit up like a fucking supernova and then went dim and Sirius was vaguely aware that he’d been thrown...that there was blood trickling from one of his ears and that he couldn’t see Snivellus. There was a sensation of _very_ heavy pressure, and a pang in his side was indicative of the fact that a rib or several were bruised; if not cracked or broken. He’d been thrown a clear twenty feet away and knocked his head on a tree he’d not paid attention to initially. There was a ringing noise that appeared to be coming from many, _many_ directions and when he tried to move he was instantly seized with an impression of nausea so great that he was unable to do much but gag and groan. The ground was hard-packed under his cheek; cold and unyielding and there were voices talking but it took him a great amount of effort to understand what they were saying.

“-ord wants him brought to him.”

“I will take him to the Dark Lord.”

He could, at least, recognize Snivellus’ voice...slimy and sneery as it was, above all others. There was, however, an air of tension in it he’d not heard before. He was distinctly aware of being slowly surrounded by several someones. How many, he couldn’t say, only that they seemed to be waiting for him to get up...to put up a fight. He wanted to laugh because he couldn’t have put up a fight if it were the last thing he did, and he was fairly sure it might have been.

“It is his-”

“It is his _will_ that I bring him before him” Snape was hissing, and the authority there was unsettling...it was too much like later-Snape for him to really get behind it. “So get out of my way, and I will do so.” A pause. “Unless you’re questioning my loyalty, in which case, I would hand myself over to you with the promise that he _will_ see you punished for seeking judgement when he was not present.”

Even from his angle, Sirius could feel the shudder ripple through the group before him. Bellatrix, he was absolutely certain, was not among them. Good ‘ol Bella would have put up a fight even in the face of Snape's icy-cold haughtiness and damn the consequences. Then again, he was unfamiliar-generally-with the Death Eaters of this current time. Some of them he was sure had to be dead...or at least had died at some point...others were imprisoned. It was, as it was, impossible to tell who they were or where they were going to end up.

“You’ll be expected. At the usual place” was the nasally, equally frigid return. “He will be expecting you.”

“Of course” Snivellus replied, and Sirius flinched as a clammy, cold hand with seemingly endless fingers clasped itself about his wrist. “I will meet you there.”

There was a familiar, deafening _*crack*_ and he closed his eyes...despair welling in his heart. Because surely Snape would not go so far as to deceive his fellow Death Eaters. Sirius was a hopeful sod, but he wasn’t entirely delirious. There were too many unforeseen consequences that could mitigate his actions. Voldemort could easily kill Snape if he let him go and-

-His head hit solid concrete.

Specifically, his head hit solid concrete and Snape was hauling him up, pushing at him even as he stumbled and gaped confusedly around them. They were in an unnamed alley; where he couldn’t say, only that Snivellus had his wand out and was barking at him.

“Draw” he snarled, and Padfoot flinched as his own wand slid into his hand. _”Draw!”_ was the roar. “Or we’re both dead, Black.”

Swallowing, his head _pounding_ , Sirius did what he was told. Half-staggering, he assumed a guard stance and fought the blurriness that threatened to close out every corner of his vision even as Snape advanced.

“Attack me” was the impatient continuation. A flick of an ebony wand and Sirius hissed as a thin runnel of blood drew a line across his cheek. _”Attack me_ , you confounded fool and make it count!”

Never let it be said that Sirius Black was anything but obedient.

When the thought crossed his mind, said individual nearly laughed. He didn’t, of course, partly because it would have made him seem bonkers-more bonkers-but also because he was in so much pain it felt like laughing would split his face in half. He was confused, _doubly_ confused because the hexes that he sent the other man’s way he didn’t dodge; just let them hit and went down with them. Sirius was not one to attack someone who was down but Snivellus just called for him to keep ‘em coming and so he did...he did until he morally couldn’t-and, really, physically couldn’t. He didn’t know what the greasy git was playing at, he didn’t. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know and the idealisms of that disturbed him far more than the fact that he was in the dark.

Snape took a while to get back up.

‘A while’, of course, was subjective in his very confused and very agonized mind. It could have been three hours, three minutes, three seconds. The world was tilting and spinning and it didn’t make _sense_. Snape glared at him as well as he could with a broken ethmoid and slit robes and a black eye and it occurred to him that he, James, Peter, and Remus had never ever gotten particularly close to beating the shit out of the man in front of him.

Severus carried his pain like it was outside of him; like it was a burden of inconvenience and not something mortal or personal. The petty side of Sirius wanted to push that further...wanted to see what he could really take just because of the _years_ of vitriol between them. That and the fact that if he was going to be taken in, he wanted to put up a good fight but he didn’t know if he had any fight left in him. Indeed, when Snape raised his wand again and pointed it directly at him he was already sinking to one knee...trying to catch breath that seemed to continuously elude him.

“You’ll need to Apparate.” Snivellus’ voice was toneless, his bearing ramrod straight and Sirius wanted to ask him how he was _doing_ that but he couldn’t find it within himself to summon the words. “If you don’t, this will be pointless” was the hissed continuation. “When you’ve recovered, go to Dumbledore and tell him what you know.” When he made to protest that ebony wand flicked and he gritted his teeth. “ _Don’t_ let pride become your vice now, Black. There is too much at stake.” A pause. “This is going to hurt. Attempt to retain your wits...and keep hold of your hand.”

Sirius opened his mouth to ask _what_ was going to hurt, but the answer became physically apparent before he could pursue the question. It didn’t register at first...the separation didn’t, in any case. It was enough shock to his nervous system that he was abruptly staring down at his detached hand with nothing but blank computation. Some very stupid part of him acknowledged that it was not his wand hand and maybe that was a blessing. Maybe it was good that Snape hadn’t _cut off his wand hand_ but Snape had Apparated and he was kneeling in an alleyway holding his detached appendage like he’d just hopped, skipped,and jumped his way into this situation and it was all just _fine_. The pain came after. It came in a slow, throbbing-sharp wave that left him near-stiff with it...blood blossoming onto his trousers even as he nearly bit through his lip to hold back a terrified yell.

Sirius Apparated because it was the only thing that made sense.  
  
And he understood to some degree that Snape had only done what he did because it was the only way either of them were going to get out of the situation in a way that was believable. Some honorable, logical part of him acknowledged that Severus was going to _suffer_ for letting him go, even if he'd had to cut off his hand to do it. It was brutal, it was merciless, but it sure as hell was better than facing up against Voldemort with nothing but his wits and naught else. Snivellus had just done him a square favor, at great expense to himself. He would, of course, not understand this until later; later being when he was able to think past the fact that he was holding his hand and losing buckets of blood. 

Sirius Apparated straight onto James’ doorstep and then promptly fell against the frame. James, who had only a few hours ago hinted at fancying him and prior to that dropped the bomb of expecting a baby with his lovely redheaded soon-to-be wife. James, who opened the door and then promptly went absolutely arse over tit at the sight of him bleeding all over his welcome mat. James, who needed to be knocked out of the way by Lily so she could drag Sirius inside, face pale, and get him into her little potions’ lab setup so she could determine whether or not she could reattach his hand or if she needed to regrow it.

James, who stood at the door like a grim-faced, absolutely furious tosser while his fiancee patched Sirius up-scolding him the entire time-and then disappeared upstairs without a word. James, who had always been there, stayed in his stupid Quidditch-centric living room while Lily declared that he was going to be fine as he flexed the fingers of his newly-attached hand with a kind of sincere relief. James who wouldn’t look at him when he limped up the steps and flopped into the armchair next to him. James, who vaulted out of his own seat the minute Sirius opened his mouth to try to explain.

James, who grabbed him by the collar until he yelped and shook him around a bit until Sirius was very nearly sick over him and then let him go as if stung. James, who cupped his cheek and threaded his fingers through his hair like he was making sure he was all there...who ran a thumb over his lips until he was shivering but in a different way than pain. James...who swallowed, eyes wet and bright, shaking his head like he was rightly _terrified_. James, who pressed his cheek against Sirius’....like somehow that would keep him there...like somehow Sirius was capable of going away after everything he’d been through.

“You’ll stay here.” Rough, on the edge of hysteria and when Sirius didn’t reply those broad shoulders tensed. “For a little while, Sirius, _please_.”

And because he couldn’t reply, because he didn’t _trust_ himself to reply, Sirius just nodded. He nodded...and he could feel the tension bleed out of the form before and around him. James settled...they settled, and his side was aching...but it was not aching as much as his heart.

“Good.”

 _James._.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** A chapter hereabove wheres't two grown men grouch at each other like old ladies and then mock-fight each other.  
> i.e. the author has no class liek taht. This was another chapter where the characters just did f*ck all and I was sort of like..."well...alright then?!" I feel like it's pretty insulting to apologize for the delay at this point but I apologize for the delay and I will attempt to keep my writing pants on for this weekend.


	15. Tinctures, flowers and relaxed hours; your job's snappy [but mate, are you happy?]

Recovering from having your hand cut off is not an instantaneous thing.

Sirius discovered this over the course of several days at the Potter-Evans residence, and it was a very bizarre experience. There were, for example, times when he dreamed he’d left his hand in the alleyway and he couldn’t remember where the alleyway was. He also had dreams where he was trying to beat one off and things just _fell_ off. Those were the most horrifying and possibly the most traumatic. He didn’t, thankfully, seem to be suffering any long-lasting mental effects from it all save for the nightmares regarding his junk. He slept most of his first day there post the night prior to beating the shit out of Snape and then having Snape one-up him even if it was a one-up of necessity. He resented it because he wasn’t warned, but he knew that warning him would defeat the purpose. More than that, he resented the little pang of worry that now followed him around whenever he let his mind think about Snivellus. They weren’t exactly chums, but he didn’t like the idea of the greasy-haired git getting landed a bad hand because he’d took _his_ hand instead of turning him in.

The atmosphere was dodgy.

In the house, in any case. James would go to work and come back, kiss Lily and settle in in the living room but that was just about it. Lily was quiet and contemplative, though busy...but to Sirius it was all very...disconnected. His best mate and his girlfriend felt like a couple that had been together for decades and not one that was newly in love and about to be married and have a little version of them crashing through the house. There was no _animosity_ behind it, but it felt...static. At the very least, it wasn’t the James and Lily of the previous timeline who were constantly hanging off one another...incapable of keeping their hands away from each other and snogging in every corner they could find and sometimes out in the open. Sirius would have been lying if he’d said that he preferred snoggy Jily over old-couple Jliy but the change was starkly there and it made him uncomfortable the way that a cake appearing on your doorstep makes you uncomfortable; it’s out of place, but it’s still a cake.

They’d talked a little bit.

He and James, that is...James insisted there was no sense in bringing Lily into the know-how regarding the whole time travel debacle unless absolutely necessary. _James_ thought Sirius was barmy for bringing Snape into all of it but reluctantly agreed that he could see the logic in it despite everything. He didn’t tell James the nature of his death...or why...he figured that if the timeline had been moved up James would find out soon enough in any case and he didn’t want to rush it there, intentionally or not. Instead, he merely told James about his goal to defeat Voldemort, and hinted at the fact that he had information regarding Voldemort that had been enough to sway Snivellus. It wasn’t exactly the most brilliant thing he’d ever come up with, but Prongs trusted him and so he took him at his word and dived into the concept of destroying a Dark Lord with all the enthusiasm and slight-naivety of anyone his age who had not died and come back trying desperately to fix everything. They debated long hours into the night regarding the prospect of immortality; but neither of them knew much more than the other.

The baby was a very large elephant in the room.

Large in the sense that nobody talked about it, not even once. Sirius offered Lily congratulations when he came into the kitchen the night after the day he’d slept through but she returned a distracted and somewhat lackadaisical _’thanks Sirius’_ and he didn’t know if he should ask her how she was feeling so he left it at that. James didn’t talk about the baby and Lily didn’t talk about the baby. Sirius-quite hysterically-felt like he was the bloke _most concerned_ about the baby because he did not know if it was baby Harry or not. It would be a massive coincidence if it was...or maybe not, he wasn’t exactly an expert on the female reproduction system. He spent several hours musing over the fact that Hogwarts did not have a sex education course until he mentioned it to James and James looked at him like he was a hatted badger and he shut his mouth before he could dig himself a hole by sounding old. He changed the subject almost immediately, and put his agedness to the back of his mind where it wouldn’t bother him.

Sometimes hiding it was harder than others.

There were times when he was painfully conscious of the fact that he had lived longer than James, especially in a setting where he was observing how James and Lily interacted with one another. They sat down to have supper together and Lily would talk about something and James would interject with something entirely unrelated. It wasn’t intentional, Sirius could see that, but he could see that it bothered Lily. He wanted to tell her-as a best mate before he was his best-mate’s girlfriend’s friend-that James didn’t mean anything by it. James’ mind was always going from one thing to the next, and it took loads more to get his attention than a discussion about gardens or tupperware or Witch Weekly. All of them were perfectly decent subjects, but James just couldn’t wrap his head around them because James was...well… _James_. And he was different from the Prongs of the Hogwarts era, certainly; he was more conscious of himself and more ready to listen, but he was still _young_ and a little bit of a tosser.

There were times when Sirius’ psyches in regards to the timeline overlapped, so he was given a dualistic purview that he understood no one else could particularly relate to. On one hand, he had himself as he had been...older, somewhat broken and very educated regarding loss. On the other, he was physically young and that came with some degree of mental immaturity. There were times when he would catch himself doing something his older self would never have done, like dancing in front of the mirror while brushing his teeth or trying to hop his way into a pair of trousers despite the fact that he knew _very full well_ that going one leg over the other was faster even if it was much less flashy and satisfying. Likewise, there were days when he fell into a routine that was so organized the youth in him rebelled against the concept of sitting in an armchair reading the Prophet because he could go _outside_ in the garden and get _muddy enough_ planting potatoes that Lily would not let him come back inside. Sometimes he and James spelled the lawn clippings to make shapes until they were both scolded into the laundry so they could be spelled clean and magicked into new clothes.

He helped where he felt he was welcome.

This meant that he did not help in the kitchen; James was barely allowed in the kitchen, and he usually was given the boot after a few minutes. Lily liked to keep the cooking to herself, and she did not appreciate them hanging about in the hallway whenever it started to smell good. Instead, Sirius helped, again, with more dirty gardening tasks, sometimes he gave a hand with the laundry, and he and James split household chores depending on if James had to work or not. Lily had a fairly good vegetable gambit running locally, and she went out every Monday and Thursday to the market a few miles away and came back with a hefty bit of pocket change. Some of it was Muggle, some of it not; the locals that stopped by for flowers were usually not Muggle. Other than your green stuff, James’ girlfriend also sold simple tinctures to those who came by or those who ordered in by owl. There were times when he was sincerely impressed; she had her own business as far as he was concerned, and she did a smashing job of it.

When he found himself with nothing to do, he spent some time pouring over the books available in the living room, but to very little avail. James’ owned some books regarding the Dark Arts, but nothing that he hadn’t seen outside of the Restricted Section in Hogwarts’ library. There were, of course, books regarding Auror Training, detection spells and other career-centric texts but those were very to-the-letter and so dogma-oriented that Sirius was occasionally shocked that James hadn’t been fired just for walking into the Ministry of Magic with his googly head and its severe disregard for rules on his shoulders. Book browsing made him even more grateful that he hadn’t followed his friend in his career path, because he was sure he would never have been able to stand it. He called into the shop to take leave and they were as gracious as could be expected on such short notice, but James had asked him to stay and so stay he did. He’d been there a week so far, and it felt a bit like a slightly awkward holiday; like when you visited your gran and you had to behave but not to a very ridiculous degree.

There were uncertain moments.

Realistically, there were times when Sirius did not know where he stood with James. Those times came late at night, when they’d had too much perhaps to drink and Lily had gone to bed. In those late, whirling hours Prongs would lay his head on his shoulder and mumble nonsense. Some of that nonsense was too affectionate for his liking...some of it made him want to leave and never come back. Then there were other times when they were entirely sober and he would catch James looking at him consideringly. It wasn’t an unpleasant look, but it was uncertain...like somehow he’d come and done something that had knocked him loose and now he was trying to figure it out. They never discussed James asking him if there was _’anything else he’d like to tell him’_...mere days ago. Sirius didn’t want to brush it under the rug, but there was a part of him reluctant to address it. Not because it was unimportant, but because he didn’t want James to get spooked and not talk to him again. He’d never been one to question his sexuality; he liked what he liked and in most cases he liked women but there was always that small space reserved just for mooning over James. James was different. He was, at the very least, unaware if Prongs had ever fancied men, and if he had he’d hidden it very well. Conversations regarding potential attraction between men weren’t the same as they were with girls. Sirius didn’t think he could take the bravado or the posturing; not after so long fostering what he had in his heart.

The idea of James laughing it off was painful.

It was...so whenever he caught James looking he threw a pillow at him or told him to fuck off and James would laugh and things would settle back into normal like they’d never been slightly off. Sometimes he would catch Lily looking at James like she was trying to figure him out and he didn’t like the idea that James had abruptly become all mysterious-like to both of them. He entertained the idea of asking her, but he didn’t want to put doubts in her head...especially now. And...really, it could all pass. He was there, and thus the balance of everything had been shifted and scrambled about. When he went home things might return to normal between them and they could forget about all of it. As far as Lily was concerned, Sirius had been on the wrong end of a nasty duel. If she knew that he’d been dueling with _Snivellus_ he supposed that her reaction would have been much more cataclysmic but she didn’t and so he said nothing.

“Pass me that parchment, would you?”

Shaking himself from his reverie, Sirius blinked at James' fingers. Said appendages were stuck under his nose and pointing at a roll of parchment atop several others on the desk opposite. They were sitting in the living room again, as they had on many evenings prior. Lily was out in the garden, he could hear her talking to one of the neighbors over the fence. There were ultimately very few people who knew where James and Lily lived. Those who lived around them knew them by face, but not necessarily on an intimate basis. Despite their involvement in the community, they were a private couple, and he could count the individuals who would be able to rattle off their address on his hand. Owls didn’t particularly need addresses, which was a little bit funny but he’d never questioned it. Lily ran her tincture-business under a professional title and correspondence with customers was to the point and strictly formal.

James was hunched over in his armchair with a quill between his teeth. He appeared to be trying to squint at a very long and very lengthy dissertation of one form or another that would have put Sirius to sleep instantly. Reaching over to palm the requested parchment in question, he handed it over before kicking his feet up atop the ottoman and staring at the ceiling.

“What’re you working on?”

It seemed to take James a bit to realize he’d asked him a question, because he continued to glare at the paper before him for several minutes until he blinked and then stared at Sirius over the rim of his glasses.

“Inventory” he muttered at length. “For the Department. Sorting cases and the like.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It _is_ boring” was the wry response. “But I got suspended for letting my best mate onto an active scene and now I’m doing push-work to make up for it.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Sirius grouched, reverting his focus from the molding to look at the younger man. “You did that to yourself.”

“I know it” was the amused return. “But that doesn’t make it any more fun does it?”

“‘Suppose not” Padfoot replied awkwardly. There was a slight pause between them and James’ quill scratched against parchment as the sound of Lily laughing filtered in from outside. “Are you happy?”

Again, James took a long time to reply, and when he did, it was with another question. Pushing his glasses back up his stupidly large nose, he opened his mouth.

“...What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Sirius trailed off and reconsidered. “You’ve got the job you always wanted, you’ve got a brilliant girlfriend and a baby on the way. Is it everything you always dreamed it would be?”

“Well, the baby wasn’t exactly planned” James groused, fumbling with his quill before seeming to give it up for a lost cause and placing it back in the inkwell.

“You know what I mean” the older man said dryly, pushing his hair back. “Are you _living the life_?”

Prongs flicked his wand and the fire in front of them roared to life. Dark eyes behind spectacles glittered in conjured flame as James worried his lip for a moment before shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.

“I mean the job makes good money” he began somewhat haltingly. Pausing, he fixed Sirius with a raised brow. _”Good_ money, mate, I’m not complaining.” A shrug. “And eh, sure, you’re not chasing villains everyday, sometimes you get a call that’s nothing but a kneazle stuck up in an attic or something similar. But you learn it’s not all glory, and it wouldn’t exactly be great stuff if it was all glory; that would mean the world’s filled with evil.”

Against his will, Sirius barked out a laugh and James elbowed him.

 _”Full of evil?”_ the older man parroted. “I’ll have to write that one down.”

“You shut it” James retorted, but he was smiling. It faded, however, as the mirth between them dissipated. “I dunno, it’s not exciting, but it keeps me busy and I need to be busy.” Sirius grunted something indicative of the fact that he understood and James got up to pour them some firewhiskey. It was some time before they spoke again, and the light coming in through the windows had taken on the dusky, rose-gold glow of imminent sunset. “Sometimes” Prongs muttered. “I feel badly about it.” When Sirius gave him a confused look, he grimaced and tossed back his whiskey. “Y’know, I spent so much bloody time chasing Lily, I got everything I wanted and I still don’t-”

James cut himself off and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Shaking his head, he poured himself more firewhiskey instead of continuing.

“You don’t…?” Sirius hedged.

“Bloody hell” Prongs huffed, a hand clenching on the armrest of the chair he was sitting in. “Doesn’t everyone go through it?! That panic, that wondering if you’ve done the right thing, if this is all you’re ever going to do or be?”

“I think so” Sirius said at length. “But I don’t think they go through it so soon as you are.”

James snorted but it was anything but amused. He sipped his drink and stared mulishly into the flames.

“Lily” he said finally. “Is a brilliant witch.” When Sirius said nothing, he continued. “She’s smart, funny, _beautiful_ and she’s going to be the mother of my child. I couldn’t ask for anything else.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

He didn’t, because despite the positivity of it there was the clear and glaring _’but’_ hanging onto the end of the sentence and he didn’t want to address it if James didn’t. And he hadn’t _meant_ for things to go all flat and technical but now they were suddenly in the midst of a conversation that was actually quite serious entirely by accident. And happiness was subjective, anyway. He wasn’t entirely sure, as a walking trainwreck, that he knew exactly what happiness was...so maybe he had no business asking James if he was happy when he was just staggering along in life half the time and sometimes he got very lucky and sometimes he got very unlucky and sometimes he fell through a _curtain_ and _died_. Sirius was basically a very fancy ghost; ghosts had no place asking living people about happiness.

“Don’t let me give you a crisis now” he muttered into his glass.

“You’re not” James replied somewhat bitterly. “It’s something that’s been eating at me for a while. I think about happiness...and the only time I was really happy was when we were at school pulling arsed-off pranks.” A sad laugh. “And, you know, you can’t do that forever; s’not part of being an adult, but I don’t think I was ever so happy as when you spelled Mary Baker’s uniform to turn pink and yellow whenever she said _’blimey’._ ”

“Childhood shouldn’t follow you” Sirius muttered. “Believe me, I tried to make it follow me, it ended badly.”

“S’not just about childhood though, is it?” James replied wearily. “It’s about...oh, I don’t know Si. I’m so bloody ungrateful, got everything I could ask for and I’m here moaning at you. There’s a rising Dark Lord and I’m worried about being _happy_. Sad, that.”

“It’s not sad,” Sirius countered. “It’s just honest.”

“Well, if I’m honest, then I’m an ungrateful sod.”

The fire popped and they both paused to watch it for a while. It was a strange feeling...the knowledge that he could _understand_ James...even if the parallels weren’t the same. It was different to be suffocating to death in your childhood home, filled with regrets and what-ifs. Sirius had often wished he’d done things differently, so he wouldn't begrudge James his uncertainty. More than that, finding out you were going to be a father was stressful, there were bound to be some hysterias that rose with that knowledge. He’d always felt stressed when he was under the impression that Harry was his responsibility. And he was...to some degree, but he’d never really been allowed to step in and care for him as he wanted to. There were times when Sirius wished he had fought harder for that privilege. He was fairly sure that James would have fought for that privilege until he fell over dead. But Azkaban had beaten him down...twisted his vision of what things ought to be and he was so bent on revenge that he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have screwed Harry up just as badly.

“I...lived a long time wishing I had done things differently,” Sirius said after a while. “But, James, there’s a difference between being apprehensive of something and knowing you did something absolutely wrong.” Finishing his firewhiskey, he set the glass aside and gestured vaguely. “Maybe it’s not always about being happy, maybe it’s about being content. Happiness feels like an extremity to me mate...like something you ride on a high and then go home and you settle back and remember fondly.”

“When did you go all philosophical on me?” James muttered, his voice slightly thick from drinking.

“After you died” Sirius replied thoughtlessly, and then flinched. Prongs was looking at him knowingly, and he shied away from it because it felt like pity even if it wasn’t. “Really, after _I_ died.”

It was as simplistic an answer as he could make it.

The reality of the situation was that Sirius had never gone philosophical until he was probably cold and floating around a green room. Sometimes he was truly angry at himself for it. There were times when he could acknowledge that if he’d just taken the time to _listen_ he might not have ended up where he was, but if he hadn’t he might not have gotten the opportunity to go back and save James and everyone else. Wanting things to be different in the past did not mean that he could not make a better future. Sirius had erred gravely in failing to recognize that perspective until it was too late.

“Sometimes” James said hoarsely. “I let myself acknowledge that the only time I felt happy… _whole_ , was when it was me and you. Before the Marauders, before our stupid pranks. When we were young and you were all of a mess and sleeping in the Common Room because you were ashamed of being a Gryffindor.”

“I wasn’t ashamed,” Sirius said quickly, and Prongs graced him with an eyebrow that had him flushing. “I _wasn’t_ , I was scared half to death of my Mum.” A pause. “But you were always there...you always made it better.”

“Until I went mad for Lily,” James muttered.

“I was a right twat about that” the older man huffed. “I’d no right to be jealous.”

“I think you did,” James said simply, and when Sirius graced him with a thoroughly honestly gobsmacked look, he laughed. “You _did._ ”

Why James thought that, however, did not become apparent because Lily came back in then...all sparkling green eyes and flushed cheeks from working in the garden. They dropped the subject because it was dangerous grounds...because Lily was there and she came through to kiss James and Sirius had to leave the room. He arranged to go home the next day, but not without stopping to see Dumbledore first.

Some things, he reasoned, should not be given the opportunity to know the light of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Getting one out slightly on schedule but not exactly. Don't know if these chapters...with discussions between James and Sirius are interesting but exploring their dynamic is something I enjoy. As usual may edit for horrendous spelling and grammar errors. Happy Easter and thanks for reading.
> 
> Edit: the idea of happiness being an extreme was a concept that occured to me while writing giant walls of text to one of the handful of people I write giant walls of text to. So, credit there.


	16. Hairy Couches and Lies by Omission, This isn't any good [Take care on your mission]

“Sirius, would you please stop being a Schnauzer and transform back into your person so I can talk to you.” 

Said person was offended enough at being labeled a Schnauzer that he barked raucously and shed his Animagus form post-haste. Sirius then marched stark-naked up to James Potter and poked him in the chest. 

“I-” he began imperiously. “-Am a _Newfoundland_ , thank you very much.” 

“You’re the largest, hairiest animal that has _ever_ sat itself on my couch and you were offending the cat” Prongs retorted. 

Sirius smiled and did not bother to hide the maliciousness behind it. 

_”Good.”_

It was a normal afternoon. 

Well, not exactly. It was ‘normal’ in the sense that Sirius had been intending to escape as Padfoot and Padfoot was apparently hankering for a kip. One thing unspoken-or largely unspoken-regarding things involving being an animagi; animal urges were still a prevalent factor. Sirius, for example, was constantly fighting back the urge not to pee on red things when he was Padfoot. Smelly shoes were also suddenly desperately appealing, and he often ignored his interest in arseholes. Not that he had any problem with them as a person, but dog interests regarding behinds were very different, and he did not like to consider them very deeply. The first time he’d transformed into his canine self, he’d been accosted with the urge to roll around in front of James and wag his tail and bark and pant. He did exactly that, and James didn’t let him live it down for _months_. Keeping the animal mind and the human mind in check at the same time was no easy feat. He got some savage delight in the fact that the first thing Peter had done after transforming into a rat was chew through his bedsheets in the Gryffindor Tower-giving himself horrible indigestion in the process-but it was a small delight compared to becoming a mutt and licking your best mate halfway to death.

Mastering the transformation had taken them long enough, but it was touch and go until they knew their ‘other halves’ well enough to apply them to Moony’s situation. None of them needed Prongs bounding them off in a skittery deer-ish panic and there were times when even Sirius’ instincts told him that their friend was dangerous quite loudly. He wasn’t entirely sure how Wormtail managed, but it was presumably because Moony chased him often in any case and whatever direction he took off in was just dumb fucking luck. He’d considered it mildly funny that for a somewhat chubby, pasty fellow, Wormtail was actually a rather ideal rodent. He could make an escape quicker than lightning and he had sleek fur for the most part save for when he’d been trying to evade him after he’d escaped Azakan. Padfoot, of course, was a bloke-deer. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure if there were scruffy bucks about, but James had never looked particularly grubby-as far as deer went-so he’d never thought about it very hard. 

Regardless, ‘leaving’ in Sirius' case meant ‘nap’ for Padfoot. 

And maybe he should have thought it through, because he hadn’t bothered transforming since his travel back in time. Of course he was going to be weaker to his ‘animal urges’, but the idea hadn’t crossed his mind and so he’d lucked out likely out of sheer stupidity. He’d fallen asleep thinking the couch smelled nicely of James and then he’d woken up and James was hunkered down in front of his snout looking like he was trying to figure him out. His first instinct was to lick him straight up the glasses, but he’d at least controlled that. James had then had a very lengthy conversation with him whilst in his Animagus form and he’d forgotten how _sensitive_ his ears were and how _loud_ James was. It was enough that it’d taken his breed being insulted in order for him to focus enough to transform back and now here he was, arguing with his best mate in the living room without any trousers or shirt to speak of. 

“I thought we made it a rule to not transform outside the full” Prongs was whinging. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Oi, we’re not in _school_ anymore James, in case you’d forgotten. When did you start getting so offended by good ol’ Pads in any case?” 

James’ face did a funny thing where it spasmed horribly before he appeared to dither between responses and he really would have liked to trounce him. Just once. And not because he was being an idiot, but because he’d been intending to _leave_ and now he was stuck trying to explain himself being a dog on James’ couch. Really, it was rubbish that he had to explain it at all. He’d slept in James’ bed as Padfoot countless times without protest. Mostly because the tower was warm and James insisted that Padfoot was ‘fuzzy’ and ‘better than a blanket.’ He couldn’t really argue with that considering his largeness and hairiness, and it was nice, anyway. His dog-self liked the company and his human self liked the idea of sleeping with James even if it was only because he was fluffy. 

“I’ve not told _Lily_ ” James hissed. 

Sirius had opened his mouth with the full intention of asking him _’why the bloody hell not’_ when someone cleared their throat. Specifically, someone standing in the foyer cleared _her_ throat and they both froze like...well...like deer in a set of headlights. He was, quite instantaneously, aware of how bad this looked. He was completely starkers, and he and James were nose to nose. It looked, quite rightly, like he was propositioning James and James was refusing not out of fidelity but because he simply _hadn’t told Lily_ , and _whoops_. Slowly turning his head to look at the witch before them, Sirius noted the tight set of the lady of the house’s lips...the way her arms were crossed, her head tilted in mock joviality. 

“Told me what, James?” Lily said in a deadly-soft voice. 

In any other circumstance, Sirius would have found James reaction hysterical. The way his eyes went as wide as saucers behind his spectacles was not dissimilar to how they went whenever Mcgonagall caught them in the midst of a prank. So too was the way he gulped and swallowed and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. It was not funny, however, considering the circumstances. Instead of inserting himself into the impending pandemonium, Sirius snatched up a copy of the Daily in order to cover his junk. Lily gave him a look that suggested that such actions would not save his gonads should it come down to it, and he tried to look as apologetic as was possible when you were in your birthday suit with the Minister’s photo grinning out in front of your nethers. James still appeared to be loading, and he didn’t like to think about what would happen if he didn’t open his giant mouth sooner than later. 

“I was about to shrink Sirius down,” James blurted. 

Sirius opened his mouth to say _’you what?!’_ but his toes got trod on and he had to focus all his attention on not grimacing in pain. 

“Were you” Lily replied coolly. 

“Yes” was the response, his mate’s voice strengthening as his resolve did. “We were going to put him in the bird bath.” A laugh that was about three-quarters to the way of convincing. “He fancied a swim.” 

Green eyes turned on him and Sirius decided that he’d rather be in Azkaban. 

“Did you?” Lily cooed dangerously. 

“Yes,” Sirius said flatly. “S’not something you talk about in polite company.” 

The lie was blatant and stupid. 

For a minute, he was seriously convinced that Lily was going to hex them no matter what. There were several tense moments in which she looked between them like she desperately wanted to say something, but those moments passed and he began instead to visualize his surely impending doom. Doom, however, was not what James’ fiancee had in mind, because instead she smiled and if looks could have broken glass hers would have gone and shattered all the windows in the house. 

“Well,” Lily remarked. “Carry on then.” 

He should have anticipated it. 

Even as James grimaced and began fumbling in his pocket for his wand, he acknowledged that of course Lily was going to make them follow through whether she believed them or not. Shrinking, generally, was not a pleasant experience and it could go badly wrong if you didn’t know what you were about. He was minutely grateful that Prongs was brilliant at Charms. Still, as a flash of light exploded in his face and the ground rushed up to greet his abruptly-minute form, he couldn't help but wonder if he was maybe the one getting the bad end of the stick here; quite literally. He hadn’t known that _Lily_ didn’t know about them being Animagi. She’d known about Lupin, of course, so he didn’t see the issue with letting her know that they sometimes helped Mooney through the full. He could only-quite desperately-grasp at the faint logic that suggested that perhaps James simply didn’t want her to know about their law-breaking proclivities. 

The bird bath was cold. 

Sitting in what felt like several feet but what amounted to just a few inches of water, Sirius attempted to look like he was relaxing and like his teeth weren’t falling out his head trying to keep them from chattering. It was a mild spring day, really, not the kind you wanted to go swimming in, but for James’ sake he kept it as convincing as possible. Said individual had carried him out quite gingerly all things considered, wrapped in a hankerchief, before setting him down on the rim. Lily stayed at the door for _thirty minutes_ -enough time for him to be squarely convinced his manhood had frozen entirely-before chirping for Sirius to ‘have fun!’ and waltzing back inside. When the door to the cottage shut, what little shreds of self-control he had left evaporated and he surged up from the water to have a yell at Prongs. It was one of those bird baths with fake bronze sparrows dotted about the rim. He could just barely see the green of the lawn if he stood on his toes. The garden surrounded the house on three sides, and they were in the part to the left of the entryway; off in a little corner next to an explosion of begonias. 

“You’re a tosser” Sirius bellowed, but it came out as a squeak. 

James, at least, had the decency to look contrite. 

“I’m rightly sorry mate” he remarked. “You’ll have to stay in there a while more.” 

“Oh I’ll stay in here” Padfoot raged. “I’ll stay in here and then I’m _leaving_ , James. That’s what I bloody wanted to do in the first place. And I’m not going to pretend to understand your issues with...whatever. Not telling her about being an Animagi, isn’t that a little far flung? Why do you care anyhow? What does it matter?” James had to lean down in order to hear him and he made a disgusted noise that probably sounded like a fairy hiccup. “I don’t know what you’re playing at James, it just feels-” he stopped and took a deep breath. “It _feels_ like you’re trying to be someone you’re not. Always has. And maybe that’s me being barmy, maybe that’s me being a jealous prick, but the James Potter I knew was _never_ ashamed of who he was with his mates, not ever.” 

“I’m not ashamed,” James boomed and Sirius' hair blew back from his forehead. 

“Then what is it?!” Sirius demanded, grabbing onto one of the bronze birds and back-flopping just for show. Submerging himself momentarily, he came back up for air and glared at the large-nosed idiot looking entirely miserable. _”What is it?!”_

It took James a long time to answer, and by then, his patience was running severely thin. 

“It was always something that was between the four of us” James muttered. “I just...wanted one thing to keep to myself, regarding our time there.” A bitter laugh. “Something _sacred_.”

And that was the crux of the issue. 

Despite the fact that Sirius understood-and could even relate to-the idealism of keeping some things between men at certain times just for sport, there was the reality that Lily was James' soon-to-be wife. His soon-to-be wife who was _pregnant_. When it came down to couples, there was a point where there shouldn’t be secrets between them. And a secret that could land his mate lawful consequences somewhat dire was not one kept just for the sake of sport; it was damaging, and it told him that James’ did not really know what he was doing, especially if he was willing to go _this far_ to hide it. 

“You need to figure yourself out,” Sirius muttered. “I dunno how you’ll do it, but it’s got to be done.” 

It was a somewhat hypocritical statement. 

Sirius was not exactly the paragon of self-awareness. He’d had his fair share of fuck-ups, sure, but he’d always been very careful not to involve his realtionships in his fuck-ups. James was in what-societally-was defined as a very serious relationship and was floundering. He didn’t know if it was because of the timeline, but if it was his fault, it stood to reason that he needed to put some space between himself and James. By his recollection, James had never had such issues in the previous timeline. Wincing and submerging himself in the water to hide it, Sirius acknowledged that the fact he hadn’t been present in the previous timeline didn’t mean that he wouldn’t have...it just meant that he hadn’t been there to help...or to make things worse. Staring at the surface of the water above him, he wondered somewhat grimly if everything was just going to go sideways and there would be nothing he could do about it. 

James didn’t reply, and that was as good as acknowledgement. 

He swam around in the bath for another solid hour just because if he was going to leave, he was at least going to be _loyal_ about it. When he slid himself onto the rim, Prongs handed him the hankerchief again without comment, and he used it to dry himself off before he was lifted and put down on a stepping stone leading up to the bird bath. There were a few moments when his company consisted of a horrendously large caterpillar. Not long after, however, James drew his wand and returned him to normal size, proffering a change of clothes as he did so. Sirius took them without comment and dressed hastily, trying to ignore the mournful way his companion was staring at him. 

“I’ll check in,” Sirius said tersely once he slid into his shoes again. “But for now, I think it’s best if I don’t stay here anymore.” 

“Alright” was the hoarse reply, and he tried to ignore how much pain was in the statement. 

He didn’t _want_ to hurt James, but he felt like he was hurting him just by staying in the same house. Or, at the very least, he felt like he was making him question himself. Sirius did not want to be the man that tore a family apart because he couldn’t wrap his giant head around personal space. James was still his best mate, and would always be his best mate, but some decisions he had to make for himself, and he didn’t want to be able to state that he’d been an influence in those decisions. Attraction wasn’t even on the table at this point, it was about the fact that James was clearly having trouble fitting in his own shoes, and he’d be damned if he made them any tighter. Buttoning his shirt, Sirius cleared his throat before letting James lead the way through the kitchen. Lily wasn’t there, but they could hear her tinkering about in her little potions’ lab. When they reached the foyer, they both stood face to face at the front door...each of them hesitating. 

“For what it’s worth” James finally commented. “I didn’t hide anything because I was ashamed of you, ever.” 

Closing his eyes, Sirius nodded slowly. 

“I know,” he replied. “But James, this isn’t any good.” 

When he opened his eyes, he acknowledged that the younger man’s expression was one he couldn’t read, but it took his breath away regardless. 

“I know,” Prongs said, and he sounded a little bit desperate. “You take care, Si, alright?” 

Fumbling for the door handle before he could entirely lose his wits, Sirius choked on a nod and instead cleared his throat. 

“You too.” 

Never before had closing a door felt so much like a betrayal of self. 

Taking the steps up to the walk two at a time, Sirius forced himself to acknowledge that it wasn’t..not really. This would give them both time, and it would allow him to focus. It wasn’t until he Apparated just outside Hogwarts’ grounds that he allowed himself to stop and catch his breath. Leaving James had always felt a little bit like leaving a bit of himself behind. It didn’t matter if they were going home on the train, or if James was going home for the weekend; it always felt like some part of him went with Prongs...and what was left of him was forced to stagger about slightly to pieces until they came back together again. Looking up at the massive gates before him, he steeled himself before sending a simple charm out to indicate his request to see the Headmaster. Pausing, he took a moment to acknowledge that he’d never really seen Hogwarts in spring before...or at the very least he’d never very much bothered to appreciate it. It was beautiful in that old...distant way that magical things built eons before were beautiful. There was a timeless nature to it. 

He tried not to compare that timelessness to his affection for James. 

By the time someone had come to fetch him and he’d gone up to the Headmaster’s Office, he’d put it behind himself enough to focus. As he slid himself into a familiar chair while twinkling, periwinkle blue eyes winked out at him from behind rectangular spectacles, he told himself he was fine. 

“My dear boy” Dumbledore began, and there was an edge of gentleness to his voice that he hated...because no matter how much he tried to hide it, Albus had always been able to see his pain. “It is good to see you again.” 

Sirius told himself _'fine'_ was a malleable terminology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Sorry, this is short. What type of dog Sirius is is never confirmed in canon, just that he's 'big' and 'black', and I got this wild hair to make him a Newfoundland, which is pretty much squarely the only reason this chapter exists. Thanks for reading.


	17. A brief memoir of things bad, of love and love lost [It's alright to be sad.]

Discipline at Hogwarts had always been a write-off. 

To Sirius, in any case. The first time he’d gotten detention he’d attended it braced to be paddled within an inch of his life only to find himself sorting flobberworms. It was anti-climatic, and it did nothing to discourage him from breaking the rules. Another student, of course, would have found the process tedious, or perhaps even humiliating. At the end of the day, he could laugh it off with James under the front of bravado while hiding the fact that he was _relieved_. He knew-sadly-quite little regarding Harry’s escapades regarding breakage of rules; but from what little he gleaned, the punishments weren’t so much in the tedious field as they were humiliating. Not because his godson didn’t understand that actions had consequences, but because he genuinely didn’t like breaking the rules unless it was for an honest cause...one that he often kept to himself. Harry was not so different from James in the sense that he was a fierce friend, and that he was desperately loyal. But Harry was different in the sense that he wasn’t slightly arrogant, and he had come into his place at Hogwarts from a place so terrible that rule-breaking was unthinkable unless it was for the sake of the greater good. 

Flich’s obsession with punishment was metaphorical. 

Sirius had never been a star student, but he’d been interested enough in the macabre to look back into Hogwarts’ History, and he was fairly sure that the tales the old caretaker spouted regarding students in chains and cold dungeons were just that; tales. There was a time when he was young and they were believable, but the more he looked into the progressional uptick of the castle’s history, the more he was inclined to believe in the propensity for legend and not literality. Arrogance had made him cynical in ways he did not like to think about on a regular basis. He was not-of course-so thick as to not take stock in what others saw as truth, but what with the Marauders ‘running’ the joint...it was difficult to be afraid of anything. He learned of fear, of course, with time. Fear was wondering if Moony was going to be alright come the next transformation, fear was going home to face a family who could barely stand the sight of him after being sorted into Gryffindor...fear was wondering if James would ever look at him the way he used to again. Sirius was a slow learner, and so he did not learn to categorize those things under the emblem of fear until it was too late...but he learned...eventually. 

He’d viewed Hogwarts as home more than almost anyone. 

Harry would, of course, be one of the rare exceptions; Sirius genuinely doubted that anyone could view Hogwarts as much home as his godson had...but it still bore mentioning. All the things he cared about were sequestered in stone walls and moving staircases...in secret passageways and hidden nooks and crannies. He was not-at this point-ashamed to admit that he hadn’t wanted to go home at the end of the year...nor was he ashamed to admit that he pursued the opportunity to stay because he thought maybe, just _maybe_ he might be able to. Like Harry, of course, his requests were denied; not because no one could grant such a request, but because he was too proud to admit to what was waiting for him when he went home. His godson had been kept at the Dursleys out of what he considered a slim lean on luck...he’d held no illusions regarding the Fidelius Charm; it was, as far as he was concerned, pure rubbish but there was nothing he could do about it. 

Dumbledore was looking at him expectantly. 

He’d never been fully comfortable with thinking of the wizard before him as ‘Albus’; the terminology just didn’t sit rightly with him, even if he wasn’t one for formal titles. Sirius was well aware of the fact that Albus Dumbledore was on a level of wizard-dom he would never achieve merely due to experience and reputation alone. It didn’t bother him, save for the fact that he sometimes felt like whatever he said was weighed against the measure of his experience before being taken into allowance. There was also the fact that the Dumbledore from the future had just as easily let himself be taken by the concept that he was guilty. Or, rather, perhaps he hadn’t, but his hands had been tied. Sirius didn’t resent his time in Azkaban beyond means of what he was unable to do or change there, but he did resent the immediate egress of individuals who he thought would have at least a little more belief in him. It was a testament to how far he had fallen beforehand; the fact that he had had no supporters and no confidants...the reality of it didn’t sit well with him, but it was still his reality. 

He didn’t know what to say. 

Mostly because he had the needling sensation that Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on, and that made him nervous. He wasn’t adverse to the concept of ‘the greater good’ but ‘the greater good’ of years coming would lead _to_ years and years of bloody, desperate battles against a foe that would-so he assumed-only fall because his best mate’s son turned out to be decent, good, and sadly prone to heroism no matter the cost. Sirius was not against heroism, but he’d seen...in the events leading up to his death, how much it had changed him. The Harry he had met in his third year was not the same Harry in his fifth year; Harry in his fifth year was angry and seeking answers to something he himself did not fully understand. The fact that he could _not_ give solid answers bothered him, it ate at him but with Albus pulling the rhetorical strings he could do little but let himself be yanked hither and thither. Upon reflection, he was fairly sure James would have socked him silly for letting him let his godson live in such a position. 

The last time he had been in the Headmaster’s Office confessing anything, he was confessing to attempted murder. He hadn’t-in his very meagre defense-looked at it that way, but it was still there. He hadn’t sat that time...like he had the first time he arrived there via Fawkes. Sirius had stood as far away from the desk as possible, shaking with a kind of repressed teenage angst and self-loathing while James put up a good front for him while occasionally looking at him like he’d torn off his whole face and replaced it with someone else’s. Maybe that was what had caused his down spiral into vagrantness and despair...he couldn’t really mark it as a surety. There were too many mitigating factors leading to his exceedingly long fall from grace, and not all of them were entirely his fault. Saying he felt remorse for what he’d done to Snivellus would have been a lie; because in the end it was never about Snivellus, he’d just been the easiest target. 

If he wanted to be painfully realistic, his feelings for James were toxic. 

In the other timeline...in any case. Shifting in his seat and clearing his throat, Sirius acknowledged the fact that anyone who was willing to throw _anyone_ in the path of a werewolf to get attention was not exactly right in the head. And he didn’t like to think of the parameters of what that suggested for him….of what it suggested he was capable of. He might have been aware of it...his obsessive nature, at least to some degree. It was one of the core reasons he’d refused to be Secret Keeper; he was certain he’d get in the way. The Sirius Black he’d known at the time of James’ death was already very broken. There was likely a part of him that knew he was all screwed up, and it was why he’d rejected the concept. He regretted it later, of course. _’Regretted’_ was a rather tame word for the horrendous amount of self-hatred that he’d accumulated over the years in Azkaban. Because he could have done better; he had proof, here, now that there were very few things he needed to have done to make it better, but he hadn’t. 

He could-effectively-regret until he fell over dead. 

It wouldn’t do him any good, or so he very hardily suspected, but he did regret. Sirius had been to see Harry countless times as an infant; he’d known him...though not very well. He had hazy, half-drunk memories of stumbling into the house in Godric’s Hollow...of knocking into the hat stand before James managed to sober him up before Lily caught on. Even with something to live for...with friends about him, he’d been all wrong inside. Regulus’ death had only been another nail in an already very firmly shut coffin. It was hard for him to say exactly what he felt when he got the news, he was fairly sure he got roaring drunk and nearly flew his motorbike into a tellyphowne pole. Because no matter how much he’d tried to extricate himself from that life, there was the fact that Regulus had never had that opportunity, and Sirius hadn’t lifted a fucking finger to try and help him. Sirius had, effectively, been one of the driving reasons Regulus had stayed...because he was as happy-at the end of things-to mock his little brother as he was to mock Snivellus. 

Sirius had always been very poor at differentiating between friend, foe, and family.

It was why he was so determined to help Regulus this time...if he could. He wasn’t entirely sure-at this point-if it was possible. With Snape veritably in the wind and the only response an order to keep his nose out of things, the dark-haired wizard was left at too many loose ends, with too many questions and too few answers. He wondered, offhandedly, if this was how Harry felt; like an individual left with a surplus of information that they could not use without endangering friends and family...separate from everything, to some degree, but his purpose. It was terribly lonely, and he could not imagine how lonely someone of his godson’s age would feel with that kind of weight on his shoulders. It made him hate himself...a little bit...for not reaching out more than he had. 

“I was in love once, you know.” 

Sirius flinched away from the gentle affectation of the Headmaster’s tone. Not because he didn’t like it, but because it was too fresh...like a blade across an already sore and weeping wound. He didn’t respond because he didn’t know what to say. One of the gadgets on Dumbledore’s desk chirped, and a wizened hand reached out with shocking agility to tap against it with the edge of a familiar wand. His great-great grandfather coughed somewhat derisively in his frame and he avoided looking at him by staring over a star-spangled shoulder. 

“He turned out to be one of the most terrible Dark Wizards the world has ever known.” 

_This_ Sirius could not ignore, and he jerked slightly before looking at the older wizard before him. Those periwinkle eyes had taken on a sad affectation behind half-moon spectacles. When Dumbledore smiled, it was genuine-polite, even-but terribly sad. 

“Love is hard, my dear boy. Especially when the person you love doesn’t walk the same path as you.” A gentle laugh. “My situation, of course, is very different from yours...but that split-” the folded hands in front of him parted, palms facing him, one left and one right. “-You feel it, down to your very bones.” 

“It’s different,” Sirius agreed at length...giving up all pretense of falsity. 

Dumbledore made a whimsical sound of agreement. 

“Perhaps in some ways, yes. But the sensation of abandonment…” he trailed off, until the younger man would look at him again. “It is _not_.” Sirius opened his mouth to refute the statement, but Albus shook his head. “To measure my pain against yours would be foolhardy, Sirius. Missing someone, no matter how dark or how bright their path, is no less hard for one person than the other. And my woes regarding romance are distant things, yours are not.” A wrinkled hand patted his. “I would, therefore, say that at this very moment, your pain is greater than mine, merely due to its nearness. To make light of it because I am older and more experienced than you would be the height of cruelty.” Those eyes grew sharp and focused, but no less kind. “It is alright to feel pain, my boy. But don’t let it become you, that is how people become lost. It would be a shame to lose you, you are far too bright.” 

Sirius swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat and ducked his head to hide it. 

“I don’t _feel_ very bright,” he muttered. 

Dumbledore laughed, and it was genuine this time. 

“And I don’t feel very old or very wise but somehow people are determined to see me that way.” A cheeky grin. “I’ve learned to live with it, especially when it comes with a free oak-matured mead due to my considerable seniority.” He paused. “You came to see me for a reason, Sirius, but I could not sit passively without letting you know you are not alone.” 

A cup of tea appeared in front of him and Sirius took it automatically. The warmth of it felt like it was burning a hole into his gut, but it was better than the vulnerability suffusing every inch of his body. 

“Thanks,” he muttered into the rim. 

There was silence again for a while after that, aside from the portraits muttering amongst themselves. Fawkes appeared to have gone through another cycle; he was all small and wrinkled in his basin and it struck Sirius that he’d never thought to ask Albus how he’d come by him. The subject of James, despite the fact that James’ name had never been mentioned, made him uncomfortable. Not because he was ashamed of his feelings, but because if Dumbledore had noticed...there was a very high possibility that others had as well. Setting his teacup down, Sirius bitterly reflected that his current-or perhaps former-arch-nemesis now knew about James, so the possibility of his feelings going unnoticed by all was rather low. Or-perhaps-it was the fact that Albus was simply too keen to pull one over on him...he didn’t really know. 

“I want to defeat Voldemort before he kills everyone I’ve ever cared about.” 

Sirius blurted it out...haphazardly, in between reaching for his tea and patting his pockets for non-existent fags that he wouldn’t have smoked in the Headmaster’s Office in any case. To his credit, Albus didn’t flinch. 

“And you know for a fact that he will kill everyone you ever cared about?” was the calm query. 

Swallowing again, Sirius closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat.

“Almost everyone,” he said hoarsely. “S’far as I know, he might eventually get to them all.” When Dumbledore didn’t reply, he cracked open one eye. “Sniv-Snape said that in order to defeat your enemy you’ve got to know what they’re like.” He jabbed a finger roughly into his temple. “Up there.” 

Bushy brows furrowed. 

“You’ve been in contact with Severus?” he murmured, sounding slightly disbelieving. “I was under the impression he was taken in.” Those periwinkle blue eyes looked at him shrewdly. “You managed to sway him?” 

“I just-” Sirius' voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “-I showed him what would happen if he didn’t get his arse straight. He didn’t like it, but he was smart enough to know that I wasn’t lying.” The dark-haired wizard laughed bitterly. “Not like I could have, what with him crawling through my noggin.” 

“You let him view your memories.” It took him a while to recognize the emotion behind Albus’ words, but after a minute he understood that it was respect. Spangled robes winked in the candlelight as the Headmaster shook his head. “Sirius...that was very brave of you.” 

“I don’t know shite about bravery,” the aforementioned man muttered before catching himself. “Sorry, but I’ve just...I’ve learned the hard way already. Seemed like a small thing to do in comparison to what I’ve got to lose.” 

“Letting someone into your mind, fully, is not a task for the weak-minded” Dumbledore replied gently. “And Severus is an accomplished Legillimens, or he would be at this point...he was not poor at it during his years here at Hogwarts. He could have killed you, easily, Sirius...with full access to your psyche. Do not understate the value of what you risked in order to provide him with the truth...I assure you that he did not.” 

“Well he cut off my bloody hand for it” Sirius said bitterly, raising the aforementioned appendage. “Got it reattached, but don’t have a clue where he is.” 

“I’m assuming he did it for a reason” Albus replied glibly, and when Sirius looked cranky, he chuckled. “Severus is in a very precarious position right now, my dear boy. He will play his hand when the time is right and no sooner, it’s who he is.” Yet another pause. “You wish to know about Tom Riddle,” the Headmaster continued. “This is a wise avenue of pursuit, but we may have to pursue it together, as I know very little of him outside his time at Hogwarts.”

“But there has to be _something_ you know” Sirius said desperately, hands clenched on the arm of his chair. “Anything.” 

Dumbledore ‘hmm’ed pensively, his eyes straying to a closet tucked in the corner of the room before refocusing on him. 

“I took Tom to Hogwarts, if we’re to delve into the past thoroughly. He was, at the time, a resident of Wool’s Orphanage.” 

It seemed anticlimactic. 

Frowning at the desk before him, Sirius acknowledged the fact that Voldemort was a hapless orphan didn’t sit with him at all. He’d envisioned something along the lines of the currently rising Dark Lord growing up in a massive, echoing mansion not unlike Malfoy Manor. 

“And that was it?” he demanded. “He was just...normal?”

“Oho” Dumbledore replied, and there was a weariness in his tone. “He was anything but normal, even before he became a student here. It’s how we found him, you see. There were incidents with the other children.” A raised brow. “I distinctly remember matron-Mrs. Cole, I believe her name was-calling them _’nasty incidents’_.” A disapproving noise. “No, Tom had a darkness in him even then...it kept him apart...kept him separate. His mother gave birth on-site, and I know very little about her. I do remember her son stating that she could never be a witch, as she was so weak as to die rather than care for him.” 

“And at school?” Sirius pressed. “What was he like?” 

“A star student” Dumbledore remarked drily. “Staggeringly bright, flabbergastingly proficient with magic; the teachers were enamoured with him...and so were the students.” 

“But not you,” Sirius said shrewdly. 

Albus appeared thoughtful for a moment before answering. 

“Sometimes” he began slowly. “When something, or some _one_ is perfect to a degree that one cannot see any negatives, one must question the validity of their flawlessness.” A wry smile. “I learned that the hard way, you see, in manners of love. And so I had already learned to look at Tom not as the epitome of wizard-dom, but as someone to be approached with caution.” A wave of a hand. “He knew this, of course, we spoke little. I was a professor at the time, and he made a point to avoid me when he was able to. I didn’t dislike him, of course, it would have been counterproductive to foster dislike, it usually is...but I didn’t trust him. When we first met, in the orphanage, he tried to rattle me.” A chuckle. “He knew he’d played his hand wrongly when I didn’t scare off, but the damage was done, and there was no undoing it. Tom knew that.” 

“How do you know that...he’s the same person?” Sirius asked haltingly. “From what I can remember, no one knew- _knows_ -who he was- _is_ -at this point.” 

“Lucky speculation” was the cheerful response. “And you’ve confirmed it, essentially. But Sirius, people have signature ways of bearance, and I recognized Tom for what he would try to become long before he left Hogwarts. It’s no simple task, familiarizing yourself with darkness...but once you know it, you know it.” 

“But what do we _do_ about it?!” Sirius demanded desperately. 

“Well” Dumbledore replied with all the bearing of someone speaking about their favorite Quidditch team. “I suppose we should start with the orphanage, hmm? Work backwards and then forwards.” The old wizard sobered. “But this won’t be easy, Sirius, this is not a path that many would willingly walk.”

“I’ve walked it before” the younger man snarled. “I walked it and Jamie- _James_ -died, Lily died, the Longbottoms died, and I was locked up in Azkaban for something I never did. I won’t turn a blind eye again.” 

There was another long stretch of silence, and he was really starting to feel rather desperate. Sirius was a little bit tired of feeling desperate, but he couldn’t see a way out of it without appealing to the individual before him for help. The portraits were silent, and he sensed that they were listening more intently than they ever had before. He didn’t like to think of himself as privy to a series of events that were unlike anything that had come behind them, but he imagined that Harry would not be unfamiliar with the feeling. And he would rather it be himself in this position than his godson. It was some time before his companion spoke once more. 

“Someday” Dumbledore remarked, looking at wrinkly Fawkes. “I expect you will have quite the story to tell.” When Sirius made a strangled noise, he chuckled. “Not now, my dear boy, but someday. You’re hanging on to ghosts of a past that I have lived...that we’ve all lived and yet we’re entirely unfamiliar with it. I don’t think I need to tell you what a great risk that is to our cause.” The headmaster sobered. “However, Sirius, I must urge you not to let this consume you. Go home, I will look into the orphanage, and then I will contact you when I have further information. If you should hear from Severus, let me know, immediately...I wish to speak with him. The most important thing, right now, is that you stay out of sight until we have a hand to play.” A shake of a silver head. “You are, as of this current moment, one of the greatest threats to the Dark Lord that we possess. You are overburdened, and you are tired, be kind to yourself, Sirius. I would not like to see you swayed.”

“I would _never_ -”

“ _-Never_ say never” was the interrupted retort, and there was a ringing authority to the older wizard’s tone he could not bring himself to refute. “The minute you do that is the minute you make yourself irretrievably vulnerable, and you are vulnerable enough. Go home, my boy, get some rest, don’t let this become you. If you let this become you, when the _time_ comes, you may be so exhausted that you have nothing left to offer. And if you have nothing left to offer, the Dark Lord will fill you with something else…”

“...And you won’t recognize yourself when you come out the other side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I'm sorry this took so long to get out. Again. don't take much stock in excuses, but if it relevant, I'm still dealing with some health things and sometimes I overwork myself to the point where I don't know that I'm doing too much. I will try to have another chapter out Sunday. There are some comments I haven't gotten to yet; I will get to them tomorrow, but I'm going straight to bed.


	18. House Calls, Fords, and Fruitless Ventures [A Study of Three]

“I don’t think this will do any good, Sirius.”

Staring overtop a bowl of porridge and into Peter’s mildly sweaty face, Sirius reflected that there were still times he wanted to trounce him just for getting within ten feet of him. It was the principal of the thing; delayed justice...mayhap. Revenge exacted for wrongs done and yet _not_ done, the whole of it sometimes felt like it was turning his head on end.

The Pettigrew house wasn’t a detached house, but it was nicer than his flat. It was situated in a moderately quiet neighborhood-for London, that is-and all the little porch fronts up and down the row were composed of quaint, painfully tidy red brick and white picket up close to the road. It wasn’t a magical neighborhood, but it didn’t particularly need to be. Peter had taken up working at the ministry again, and he’d bothered to buy a little Ford Fiesta in order to ‘blend in with the scenery’ despite the fact that there was very little chance he’d ever sit in the driver’s seat, let alone use it to get around. When he arrived, Peter dragged Sirius into the car port and told him to have a look at some funny numbers atop what Wormtail called the ‘dash.’

 _”See that?”_ Wormtail had muttered. _”That there’s the mileage for this thing. Every so often I give it a little flick-”_ -One such flick and _’Surfin Bird’_ began to blast out the speakers, nearly flattening his eardrums before his mate waved his wand frantically again and it stopped only to have the trunk pop wide open. Simultaneously, the numbers on the dash spun frantically before landing on an exponentially higher number. _”Yes, well, s’not supposed to do that with the radio, but I put a little extra on every now and then so it looks like it’s been used.”_

Sirius didn’t ask why making it seem ‘used’ was important; he was happy enough he hadn’t been blown to bits with the stereo. He _did_ know what a stereo was, thanks to his motorbike.

Watching as Emma came trundling back into the room, the dark-haired wizard realized he didn’t particularly fully understand what Peter’s job entailed, save for the categorization and sequestration of some historically important or presently important events in regards to wizard-dom. He’d talked to some degree in his letters regarding ethical wizarding issues abroad, and political issues, but his actual job definition was a little bit furry compared to everything that seemed to be attached to it. Looking about the house around him, he acknowledged somewhat grudgingly that it had to pay well in order to afford such a nice place. It wasn’t grandiose but it was spacious, tidy-that more thanks to Emma than anyone-and very homely. It was certainly-again- nicer than _his_ flat but he didn’t know of many things that were worse than his flat so it was a somewhat egregious comparison. He didn’t think he’d feel comfortable in such a place on his lonesome regardless; he’d rattle around in it like a bowling ball and it would only add to the sense of separation that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

It had been perhaps a week since his meeting with Dumbledore and he was already itching under the orders of _‘stay put’_ he’d been given.

Realistically, when he’d last ignored Dumbledore’s orders to ‘stay put’, he’d croaked, so he was somewhat inclined to give the phrase a little more weight than he had before. That didn’t mean, of course, that he didn’t resent it. He’d spent that week holed up in his apartment unsuccessfully patching the walls and telling himself that _no,_ broken walls were not an excuse to Floo James. He certainly _wanted_ to Floo James because he quite frankly missed him something terrible. Logic, however, dictated that such locomotives of rumination could only run the track into catastrophe town, and so he remained in his self-inflicted isolation. He went to work, of course, and that was somewhat of a reprieve. His motorbike was somewhat outdated, even for the shop at which he was employed, and if decided to take it along it got loads of attention. Sirius had spent a significant amount of nights running through new owners’ manuals in order to better understand individual operating systems. Seemed like every day Muggles were coming up with new bells and whistles to make up for their lack of magic.

Snape had written him perhaps a day ago.

The letter and Sirius had only coincidentally crossed paths when he was about to Floo out to do some shopping and it fell down the chimney atop his head in a shower of soot. He somewhat morbidly considered it a bit of a miracle that the letter hadn’t gone to Diagon Alley with him.

_Mongrel,_

_In different circumstances I would apologize for my failure to correspond but in the case of dealing with you I merely do not care. Moreover, I considered my livelihood of greater priority than peppering you with measley reassurances as to my fate. We both, I can safely say, rest quite well at night without wondering whether the other still breathes. The Dark Lord was displeased with my failure, but ultimately willing to accept my explanation, along with the deliverance of my memory of severing your hand. It is here that my conscience feels an apology is due, due to the painful nature of dismemberment, but logic dictated that even someone as dim as yourself could surely locate someone less dim, such as Miss. Evans, to reattach your hand. If you did not do so, then I suppose this missive is in poor taste, but no poorer than your ability to reason cogently. Rest assured that you may visit St. Mungo’s to ameliorate the regrowth of your appendage, as it was not removed via a curse, much to your benefit or so I imagine._

_You will be pleased, or perhaps displeased, to know that I was able to converse briefly with Regulus prior to returning home. He was, as far as I could discern, in good health, and plans to attend Hogwarts in the fall. I will harbor the assumption, at this point, that you have approached Dumbledore, though in consideration of your ability to do absolutely nothing useful I verily suppose that I should not. I will say that he seemed perhaps distracted, but otherwise nothing seemed amiss. I did not think it wise to bring you up in the midst of many of my colleagues, however distasteful I find them, I still value my life. Since I doubt it has occured to you, I think you would do well to bring your concerns in regards to Regulus to Dumbledore as well. I do not-effectively-belive that I can help you any further in this area unless Regulus should miraculously decide to take me into his confidence. Otherwise, I have spent much time recuperating. I do not, or so I suspect, think that you will hear from me for some time after this, but rest assured that I shall not be aggrieved by your lack of presence._

_Without an iota of fondness whatsoever,_

_S.S._

Sirius supposed that the letter should have offended him but he instead found it rather humorous in a dark sort of way. It was a little bit telling; of what little communication he had, the fact that it consisted of finding a chuckle in a missive from his arch nemesis, his very boring married mate, and his sporadic werewolf penpal was a little bit on the pathetic side. James did not write him, but he did not expect him to and would have been a bit put off if he had because they had never written to each other before. He didn’t really know what James would have had to say to him that they’d not said a dozen times before. Sirius did consider writing James, admittedly, but also realized almost instantaneously that to do so was dangerously under the parameters of romantically pining and sending love letters.

And so he’d found himself invited to dinner.

It was a nice dinner, admittedly. Emma was a very good cook, a fabulous host and an engaging conversant. She had yet to find employment in London, but had previously worked in the city as a seamstress. Sirius had felt a bit strange saying that the job suited her, as it was rather sequestering in terms of her sex, but Emma had caught his eye and smiled and said that design was one of her passions, and she was considering setting up a shop of her own. Peter talked about work whenever he thought he could get away with it, and it was clear that his wife was no fonder of hearing about his work than anyone else was because every time he would talk overlong she would hand him a biscuit. Sirius wondered, a bit enviously, why none of them had thought of that when they were holed up with him in Gryffindor Tower.

The dining room itself was nothing one wouldn’t expect. Directly in front of the foyer, it sported five chairs, wooden in make, arranged around a table of similar appearance. There was a dish pantry against the far wall, a liquor cabinet, and a generous array of candles at the center. Theme-wise, things were a bit farmhouse-esque, but not overwhelmingly so. The lady of the house had a subtle rustic taste that Sirius could appreciate without feeling like he was going to swallow a ceramic barn animal if he turned about too quickly. Sometimes he felt like he was getting a bit doily-fied, but otherwise it was Muggle enough that it felt Muggle, but not so Muggle that he felt like he was visiting an entirely non-magical residence. Peter had bits and bobs here and there that were clearly of wizarding origin...so it balanced itself out. Squinting at a tiny model of a dragon on one of the shelves, Sirius suppressed a grin when it craned its neck suddenly and squinted straight back at him. He was fairly sure he’d gotten that for Peter for his birthday; he didn’t ever think he’d keep it beyond graduation.

It wasn’t, however, as if he didn’t have his own reasons for accepting the invitation.

James had connections with the Ministry due to his job but Sirius did not want to rock the boat by approaching him with requests. His mate-effectively-had enough to worry about, and was not innocuous enough to do any snooping in any case. James snooped about as gracefully as a rhinoceros in a flock of flamingos. Peter was not-if at all-more graceful, but he at least had the sense to proceed with caution, a twitchy nose and sweaty everything. Wrinkling his nose at his teacup, Sirius acknowledged that that was not really much better, but Wormtail had the propensity to get nervous if someone looked at him overtly long, so it wasn’t like it would make much of a difference in any case. The request he’d put on the man across from him wouldn’t risk his livelihood unless he opened his mouth and vomited it to seniority. Which, considering Peter, was a real possibility, but he needed a reason to trust him other than the age-old mantra of _’this is not the same Peter’_. He had no intention of informing him _why_ he was asking, but he was still asking.

“I know it’s not conventional” Sirius remarked as Emma began to clear the table. “Here, I’ll help-”

“-You can sit right back down” Emma said sternly, eyeing him over the now-eaten roast. “This is my grandmother’s china, nobody touches it but me.”

“S’no use mate” Peter said anxiously from his chair. “She won’t let me near it either, best let her do what she likes.”

“Thank you, sweetheart” Emma chirped, swooping in to steal a kiss from Wormtail who turned bright red like it was his first time ever getting any kind of smooch from a bird.

“Not conventional” Sirius repeated, clearing his throat and trying to pretend it didn’t feel like he was going to burst out of his trousers. “Crikey, mate, do you eat like this every day? I don’t think I could manage it. S’practically a Hogwarts meal.”

“Yes” Peter said dreamily, staring at the kitchen where his wife had disappeared with misty eyes. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“A dream” the dark-haired man replied wryly. “Er, look, nobody’s asking you to break the law here.”

Surprisingly shrewd eyes fixed him with a look he was rather unaccustomed to when it came to a perhaps-younger Peter Pettigrew.

“I’ve been working in the Magical Trading Standards Body enough to know it’s not my area” was the level reply. “Look, if you were looking for an artifact that could have been shipped officially, I’d be able to help you. But the issue of children thought previously to be Muggle being ledgered as magical children is so far above my head I couldn’t hit it if I jumped with a bloody trampoline. St. Mungo’s plays a part in the transfer, as does the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sometimes the Improper Use of Magic Office. Where those files would be kept, I’d never know, only that it would have to be somewhere in the Archives, and you need a reason to go down there, let alone wander about for hours.”

“But it’s not _against the law_ ” Sirius hedged.

Peter looked a bit henpecked.

“No, but it’s not exactly within my _station_ , Padfoot. Knowing your place means a lot at the Ministry. I’m lucky to have gotten my position back. Moreover, the name you’re asking me to look up has been subject to a considerable amount of scrutiny already. I don’t know what your game is Sirius, but we could both step on some toes that would give us a boot up the arse if we’re not careful.” The sound of the sink running pervaded the space, and Peter leaned forward. “I have a lot to lose right now, Si. You’ve not exactly got nothing yourself, know you think you do, but you’ve got people who care for you.” A pause, and the little cat-shaped cuckoo clock on the wall wiggled slightly before settling again with a resounding purr. “If you really want me to do it, you know you’ve not got to push me too much to get me to, and I will. But the name Tom Riddle isn’t unknown in large circles. S’not a file system you’re familiar with Sirius, every file in the Archives keeps a record of when it's accessed and who accessed it.” A sigh. “I guarantee you there are people who have looked into this before you have.”

“They might not have been the right people” Sirius grumbled.

“Likely not” was the somewhat unhappy reply. “But do you really want to attract attention like this, Sirius? Feels like you’re waiting for something you know will come and you’re just impatient.”

The dark-haired wizard glowered at his friend.

“When did you get to know me so effing well?”

Peter chuckled, a bit nervously.

“S’not like I was in on all that you lot had planned at Hogwarts” was the somewhat dry response as Emma came back with a dishrag. “Had to learn your cues beforehand, otherwise I was scrambling to keep pace.” A shrug. “That and my old man always told me that observation was better than acting quickly, so if I was skittish it was because I was learning something I thought I oughtn’t to.”

“We didn’t neglect you that much,” Sirius groused at the tablecloth. Peter made an idle noise of agreement that felt too much like mollification to him, but he let it slide because it wasn’t his house. “You weren’t exactly the most useful of us lot.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Peter commented, and this time the dark-haired wizard _did_ catch a little bit of bitterness in his voice. “That our worth in the Mauraders was always determined by how well we performed?”

“I didn’t mean it like that” Sirius protested, a little taken aback.

“I know you didn’t” was the impatient reply. “Just-saying it I suppose, how it is...or how I feel about it. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed just about every minute of it, but you can’t deny that it was there.” Wormtail looked disgruntled. “Whenever one of us pulled off something ‘brill’, James was always right there to laud it, but if we couldn’t keep up, or we weren’t entertaining, we were on a backburner.”

“Doesn’t sound like something you’d say” Padfoot returned.

Peter laughed, and it was genuine, if a little melancholy.

“You know me well too, Remus was the first to say it.”

The idea disturbed Sirius because it rang too true with his misgivings regarding some of James’ initial intentions. Leaning back in his chair, he scraped his fingers idly through the stubble on his cheek before settling. There was, likely, an initial facet of all of them that had just been in it for one thing or another centric to their own aims. Peter was bullied mercilessly and James was quick to defend him, Sirius was supposed to be in Slytherin and James had shown him he wasn’t, not really. The only individual in the Marauders that really wasn’t beholden to James was Moony, and it was because Moony had always stubbornly insisted on going his own way, no matter the cost. He was happy to have Sirius, Peter, and James for mates at Hogwarts, but he was never carefree or without worry like the rest of them could be. He didn’t, however, think that James had in the end remained friends with the lot of them just because it was advantageous. He could be arrogant, certainly, but he was still loyal, and there had never been at time where he’d actually felt _let down_ by James….save for maybe with Lily...but that was jealousy. Closing his eyes and tipping his head back to the ceiling momentarily, Padfoot sighed.

“We could all be right pricks” he remarked at length. “S’not like James was the King of prickishness because he took us under his wing.” Dark eyes narrowed. “Oi, now, you’re distracting me from the topic!”

“We’ve been over it” Peter replied, sounding exasperated. “And I think you’re rushing Sirius, I think you’re impatient with whatever you’re up to, and you need to have care.”

Emma chose that moment to come back into the room, wiping damp but clean hands on her apron.

“This is coming from the man who cannot wait five minutes for breakfast,” she said with gentle admonition. Wormtail looked somewhat embarrassed, but opened his mouth to respond all the same.

“If you had to wait for the breakfasts you make, you’d be impatient too” he muttered even as he stood to kiss his wife, whose eyes turned up at the corner at his compliment. “I’ll go wipe down the kitchen eh? Why don’t you stay here and tell Sirius not to be hasty, Godric knows he’s never listened to me or Remus.”

“Like you did anything other than stutter _b-but Sirius!_ Remus did all the work!” Padfoot threw at Peter’s back, the man in question waved lackadaisical and continued his trek to the kitchen. Emma slid into the chair opposite Sirius and poured herself some tea; Outside, it was starting to get dark.

“I don’t know what you two are up to” she remarked as the sounds of magical scrubbing began to fill the air. There was a cacophonous bang and a shower of multi-color suds from the kitchen. Sirius yelped and raised an eyebrow at Emma who looked unphased. “We’re still working on housework,” she remarked professionally. Another bang, and a series of hiccoughs was accompanied with more bubbles. The lady of the house glared in the direction her husband had gone. “Honestly” she exclaimed, though there was a deep note of fondness in her voice. “You think he’d learn he’s just not cut out for the magical version.”

“Blokes like things done fast” Sirius replied dryly. “Worth the pain, s’far as I’m concerned.”

Emma gave him a look that suggested she was disappointed in him.

“That aside” she sniffed as the stream of bubbles from the kitchen settled into a slow trickle. “I do hope you both know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think it’s going to amount to anything” Sirius mumbled, folding his arms. “Think he’s right...that I’m being impatient for nothing.”

Emma smiled.

“Peter’s always had good initial judgement in regards to danger” she replied. After a moment, however, her expression morphed into seriousness. “However, I also recognize that Peter’s judgement when it comes to the Marauders is next to nil.” When Sirius opened his mouth to protest, she shook her head. “He’d chop off his ear to please you...any of you...you know it. So don’t be surprised when he says no but does the exact opposite.”

“I’m not asking him to” Sirius replied, a bit disgruntled.

“You barely needed to ask” Peter’s wife replied sadly. “He’d get the moon for you or James or Remus if he thought he could do it….and I imagine his conscience will win out over his logic in the end here too.” Leaning forward, Emma suddenly looked fierce. “However, I can _promise_ you, that if any ill comes to him following his ventures, there will not be a rock, a tree, or a mountain you could hide under to save you from my wrath, do you understand?” Padfoot must have looked a bit harangued, because she narrowed her eyes. “He’s _my_ husband, and unlike him, I am not blind to the fact that neither you nor James went out of your way to make sure he was alright until very recently. I like you Sirius, Peter likes you, but if something happens to my husband I will _hate_ you for your neglect, and I will _make_ you take responsibility, do you understand me?”

Sirius swallowed and nodded his acknowledgement, Emma smiled and opened her mouth but Peter chose that moment to come back in covered in magenta soap suds.

“D’you think you could give me a hand mate?” a muffled voice asked in the direction of Sirius.

“I don’t know a thing more about cleaning spells than you do” the aforementioned man grumped, but he nevertheless rose from his chair and fumbled in his pocket for his wand.

Emma watched them go and Sirius couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was just as possible to lose this sort of thing...this idyllic togetherness, best represented by Emma and Peter on their own. He could still lose it now, despite their togetherness, because of the reality that Voldemort had still not been defeated. Sirius gave it his best shot at washing the dishes but ended up turning them sky blue with garish yellow polka dots. At the sight of his handiwork, Wormtail nearly fainted, and they spent a good twenty minutes trying to put things to right in the plate department. The dinnerware was a somewhat lighter shade of orange at the end of everything, but they reckoned it was close enough. Upon attempting to wash the roasting pan, Sirius ended up magicking his trousers to the ceiling and dousing them with soap. Emma had a fit of the giggles and went off to find Sirius a pair of paints that _might_ fit him if she used a clothespin to hold in the waistband. Peter flicked his wand and they watched with hopeless expressions as green and purple bubbles began to nudge for space in the little kitchen; it was more fulfilling than being alone in a dingy apartment...at least he wasn't alone.

And if he applied himself, he could at least make a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Would like to say that I spent the last [3?][4?] weeks growing a halfway decent beard and thus sequestering myself to ultra-hermitism but this took long because brain. I am are is all screwed up down there here. But thanks for reading. Want to guarantee I'll have another up next weekend, but feel like it's sort of up in the air. Regardless, this chapter was not painfully exciting. Also, am not ignoring your comments. Will...again, try and get to them tonight once I'm done working. If it's any consolation, nothing I write is abandoned whatsoever. This was another chapter where I wanted to see how Sirius would deal out of his element, feel like I should have something a bit more impressive to say regarding the dullness of this chapter, but I don't.


	19. Poles, wires, and pigeons; leave it alone [a mountain of regrets, but this feels like home]

Sirius was in Buckley strapped to a tellyphowne pole.

He was fairly sure it was a tellyphowne pole, in any case; it was one of those structures that looked like they were made by mutilating a tree and stringing rubbery lines from one to the other. How he had gotten himself strapped to a tellyphowne pole was a long and-perhaps to some-tedious story, but it was currently where he found himself; trying to manage between the acknowledgement that he had but minutes to free himself without particularly knowing the spell that had bound him there, and the fact that if he wasn’t _very_ careful, he might end up getting kidnapped by Death Eaters.

His wand, thankfully, was but a few inches away from his left foot. Or, rather, this _would_ have been thankful if he’d managed to master wandless magic even a wee bit. He hadn’t, however, so he was forced to strain mightily with little more than a vague concept in order to retrieve it. From an outsider’s point of view, he was sure that the sight was neither pretty nor the slightest bit explainable. A pigeon-apparently feeling safe and secure enough in his red-faced, grimacing presence-flapped down from a wire and cock-eyed him from the ground. When the dark-haired wizard failed to acknowledge it, it began to tug at his shoelaces.

“Piss off” Sirius grunted.

His attempts at escape had been mostly unsuccessful.

Wriggling about a bit despite the fact that he knew it wouldn’t do any good, Sirius caught sight of an approaching automobile and screwed his eyes shut. It was a hot day, and the debris passing cars threw up had gotten stuck in places he was never necessarily fond of. This included his leg hairs, and he was genuinely convinced that when he managed to get himself a bath, the water would be nearly black. Decent, well-meaning folks would stop for some dusty, dirty fellow strapped to a pole, but he would never know if there were any decent, well-meaning folk in the immediate vicinity because the invisibility charm placed on him made it impossible for anyone to make him out.

It was a break from mundanity.

This was reaching for positivism somewhere in the sparkling, clandestine heights of insanity, but it was better than sitting in his flat crankily wondering what Dumbledore was up to. He could get behind the action, he could not get behind the very damsel-in-distress nature of his position. And it wasn’t like he had _asked_ for this to be done to him; he would have been perfectly happy being socked in the face or hung by his toes from a towering cliff. Snivellus, however, had a sense of heart about the size of a baby bowtruckle, and that was being generous. He also had no care for Sirius’ manhood or the state in which he was possibly found and captured. How he had gotten to this point was somewhat of a conundrum, but ultimately a mix of dumb luck, or perhaps _rotten_ luck.

He’d gotten somewhat of a tip in regards to Regulus.

Specifically, he had gotten a lead in regards to Regulus that _led_ him in the direction of Buckley. Looking back upon his decision to go, he could now andmit that it hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had considering the source of the information. That source being Kreacher, who had shown up in his kitchen the night before and croaked out a rather cryptic message that seemed like Regulus but didn’t seem like Regulus. Sirius’ little brother had always gotten along with the house elf more than he had. Not that the older wizard had ever gone to any great lengths to earn his favor, but it still merited some consideration because if anyone had earned Kreacher’s respect, it was his younger sibling. When it came to the message in question, there was nothing particularly _dishonest_ that came of it in any case, merely that he’d hung around in Buckley because there was a Death Eater meeting-as had been reported by Kreacher-and then perhaps gotten his toes a little bit too warm when it came to proximity.

The day was dreary.

This meant that visibility was bad, even on his motorbike, but he hadn’t counted on being so rain-blind that he’d gotten _shot down in a field_ on his motorbike. That’s what had happened, however, and he’d spent perhaps five minutes staring dazedly at the sky before realizing that he was likely being hunted. This led to perhaps a two hour long chase around the immediate locational vicinity, until he rather unfortunately managed to run into Snivellus and not Regulus, and Snivellus was not half so inclined to help him as he had been last time.

_”I’ll not clean up your mess this time, Black.”_

They’d dueled, of course, as far as duels could go when both of them were looking nervously over their shoulders for signs of the adversary. Somewhat pridefully, Sirius acknowledged that he’d gotten a few good ones in before getting his arse handed to him in the form of a charm that forced him to jog in weenie figure-eights, entirely out of his control. Jogging in figure-eights made casting spells difficult-made aim more difficult-and he was entirely ignorant of the counter-charm, and so he was forced to resign himself to defeat. ‘Defeat’ consisting of him being blasted six feet backwards into a hay bale and knocking a person-sized dent in it. Somewhat dazedly, he’d reflected that Kreacher had probably meant well in relaying the message, but he hadn’t relied on Sirius’ ability to be conspicuously careless. He should have known _better_ than to just gun for the first opportunity to talk to his younger sibling, but he’d felt driven...obligated.

And then he was caught.

‘Caught’ was a relative definition, however, because Snape had stormed up to him growling several obscenities he wasn’t entirely sure were in English, grasped him by the collar, and then apparated him a few miles away onto an empty stretch of country road. Sirius had made a grab for his wand but it was kicked away almost immediately. Snape was somewhat stronger than he looked, despite the fact that he could easily best him if he wasn’t half-concussed by a hay bale and _extremely_ confused. That and Snape had bothered to spell him straight into the tellyphowne pole when it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to drag him the whole way.

_”I”_ the greasy-haired git had declared as rope sprung from the end of his wand. _”Have sacrificed enough on your behalf.”_ Sirius could recall his breath hissing through his teeth as the bindings holding him to the pole were made secure. He was then forced to watch as Snivellus pointed his wand at the sky, a star-strung...ghostly green skull and serpent tattooing itself into iron grey even as his adversary stepped back. Beetle-black eyes surveyed him critically for a moment, before a sallow face grimaced. _”You won’t have much time to extricate yourself”_ was the lackadaisical comment. _”I have no intention of ever having been here. Do yourself a favor this time.”_ A raven brow was arced even as Snape began to turn in a circle. _”You **might** learn something.”_

And so Sirius found himself; alone, with the Dark Mark over his head, his wand within his grasp, but only if he had the proficiency to summon it, and a sense of rather terrible failure.

It was all a bit ironic because he’d gone into it with good but ultimately very hasty intentions. He knew better than to rush, of course, but he apparently didn’t know all that well. The pigeon side-eyed him somewhat suspiciously and he tried-and failed-to flip it the bird from where his wrists were bound at his sides. Panic, at this point, was starting to set in; it had been a good five minutes, and he seriously doubted that any Death Eater within a certain radius was going to miss the giant beacon that had been put over his head. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Sirius closed his eyes and counted to ten before trying for his wand again. This time, there was a distinct feeling of connection, and the apparatus in question twitched a bit before rolling in the opposite direction. Sirius cursed mightily, the words spilling from his lips with an involuntary, desperate kind of vitriol. As he did so, there was a faint _’pop’_ to his left, and whatever hatred he was flinging at his wand died almost instantly as he practically gave himself whiplash trying to crane his neck to see who it was.

It had been so long since he’d seen Regulus he’d nearly forgotten what he looked like.

Not that they looked very much different, Sirius reflected dryly as his brother gave him one of those guarded but still-somehow vulnerable glances. Upon his arrival, the wards concealing his location from Muggle eyes instantly fell. Pitching his gaze upwards, the now-direct heir to the Black Family Fortune stepped gingerly about his pole before coming to stand directly in front of him. They were of almost equal height at this point. With a jolt, Sirius acknowledged that he had not seen his brother at all post his own graduation and the news of his subsequent death. The Regulus in his mind was slightly shorter than him...ganglier and awkward. Some of that awkwardness still lingered, but more apparent than that was the fact that Regulus had somewhat come into his own...that his once-overlarge nose fit him well and that he was slightly broader and bulkier than Sirius was. Sirius was all leg; Regulus was-to some degree-all chest. Their Uncle had not been of a dissimilar appearance, and he despaired at the idea that he might take more after their grandfather and great-grandfather than his sibling did.

“I told you to stay away.”

His voice was deeper too.

Not by any great degree, but certainly deeper than he could ever recall it being. Sirius took some satisfaction in the fact that the Death Eater robes were ill-fitting on him. Regulus didn’t look any more a minion of the dark than he would have in his place.

“Kreacher showed up,” Sirius muttered. “Couldn’t exactly ignore the tipoff, but ran into-”

_”-Don’t_ tell me” the younger man cut in, and when Sirius shot him a confused look, Regulus shook his head. “I don’t want to know, it’s dangerous to know. I have an idea, but an idea is merely an idea; it can be bent into supposition, the Dark Lord cannot draw fact from supposition.”

“And is he?” Sirius asked idly, looking at the sky.

“Is he _what_...Sirius?”

“Your _Lord_.”

Regulus was silent for a long time afterwards, and it wasn’t until Sirius would look at him that he continued. When he did look, he was struck by the mirror-like desperation in his brother’s eyes; it was not unlike his own desperate need to keep secrets even though such secrets could prove disastrous in their keeping.

“Mother’s put new wards on the house...stronger ones.”

Against his will, Sirius felt his lip twitch.

“Figured she would.”

“You ought not to come again, they won’t be so easily surprised.”

“Don’t plan to.”

There was a flash of light, and it took him a few moments to realize that Regulus had waved his wand...that the bonds surrounding him had dissolved. Flexing his wrists, Sirius shot his brother a nervous glance before bending to pick up his wand.

“This isn’t a game, Sirius.”

“I very well know it’s not” the aforementioned wizard replied bitterly. “M’not a kid anymore, Reg, I’m not on the other side of the fence mocking you because I’ve got on red and gold.” He hesitated. “And, I’m _sorry_ that I ever did.”

When he looked at Regulus again, he had to check himself, because Regulus looked like he either wanted to punch him or burst into tears. Somewhat embarrassed, Sirius cleared his throat and focused on a lorry that was trundling towards them. The driver leaned on the horn and he forced a somewhat grimacing smile on his face as he waved.

“I’d have given-” Regulus paused and audibly swallowed. “- _Anything_ to hear that from you years ago, Sirius.”

The pigeon was back on the wires; it’d brought friends. Sirius kicked at some loose stones.

“And now?”

“Now you need to let me be.”

“You’re my bro-”

“-Just because _you’ve_ decided you’re my brother again all nice and abrupt-like doesn’t mean that I’ve been in stasis this whole time, Sirius. Neither of us are the same people we were, neither of us can help one another.”

“You don’t know that,” Sirius said fiercely.

“I know more than anyone at this point,” Regulus snapped. “And if I had anything of value to bring to you, I would, but I don’t, not right now. And you tying yourself to me will just slow me down. So get out of here, Sirius. I can play the wounded brother maybe once, but only once, and only if you go. I think I’ve suffered enough on behalf of your amusement, don’t make me suffer because you want to be the _heroic Gryffindor_. It’s too late for that.” The air around them seemed to become incredibly dense-a very tell-tale sign of the impending ingress of multiple wizards apparating-and familiar eyes widened. “ _Go_.”

Sirius would have liked to have said that he went quietly, and without a fuss. He would have liked to say that he turned on the spot and left that blasted telephone pole and his already-very put-upon brother to be without troubling them. Sirius Black, however, was Sirius Black. And so when he pointed his wand straight at that bloody pole and set it alight-flames exploding to the sky-it was with the knowledge that he could at least make it look like he’d put up a fight. When the rest of the Death Eaters came popping in he was already nearly through, but he made sure to hit at least one or two with a stunning spell over his shoulder. One of them he managed to push a bit into the flames...enough that the memory of him...or her, slapping at their robes would stay with him for a while. The circumference around the pole was scorched black when he turned...and he thought it fitting for his mood as fire danced behind his eyelids. Because he did not _like_ to feel useless, and he did not _like_ to feel unwanted...but that’s what he was.

Maybe that was why when he got back to his flat he opened up a bottle of Odgens and nearly drank himself under the table before the fire flared green and a very familiar head of messy hair tumbled out of it. Maybe that, in turn, was why he was so utterly and regrettably careless with what happened after that. Maybe that was why he failed to say no when he should have...but in the end he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

No one at all.

* * *

“Just let me stay here a little while mate.”

Sirius was in a dilemma of considerable proportions.

Thankfully, he was to at least some degree used to being in dilemmas, and he’d learned throughout the years that panicking never did him an ounce of good. And it wasn’t actually a crisis...not really, it was just _James_. Specifically, it was James coming through his Floo with a little rucksack and a dejected, _I’ve-just-been-kicked_ expression. He might have been alright with it if it wasn’t such a late hour, if he hadn’t had a horrible day, and if he wasn’t seriously compromised by the amount of Firewhiskey he’d imbibed to ameliorate his horrible day. Sirius was feeling very warm and fuzzy, and he wanted to tell Prongs to come right on in and stop looking delicious on his hearth and _crikey_ he was loose when he was sloshed. Sitting at the kitchen table-or rather _slumped_ at the kitchen table with Regulus’ voice echoing in the back of his head and a feeling of rather sincere and complete regret and self-hate-Sirius attempted to stand but the world went a bit whirly and he decided to stay where he was.

And stay he did.

He stayed all throughout James’ explanation that he had Lily were not getting along because James couldn’t get his head on straight. He stayed while hearing about all their stupid, couply fights, their ridiculous rows and their slightly brutal battles. He stayed when James snatched the whiskey out of his hand and joined him at the table despite the fact that he hadn’t exactly given him permission to come in. He stayed while his mate lamented the impending birth of a baby he was already really very stressed about, and he stayed when James was just on the wrong side of not-sober and began to talk very loudly and thickly and in a way that made him want to punch him in the face. James’ face was animated when he was a little bit tipsy, not in an exactly pleasant way, but in a strange and distant way that allowed him to acknowledge his level of inebriation without doing anything about it. Sirius stayed until the clock read that it was midnight and he was bone tired and he just wanted to go to sleep.

He felt terrible about Regulus.

At the same time, there wasn’t much that he could do outside of acting _outside_ of his brother’s scope of knowledge, and that could potentially put him in more danger than he already potentially was in. Sirius could be reckless, but there was no means to an end in regards to that. He didn’t know what Regulus’ mission was, if he could even call it a mission, but he clearly had his own agenda and by interfering he might only make things worse. It went against the knee-jerk urge that boiled within him to protect those that he cared about. Some of it felt obligatory, because he had somewhat resented Regulus for never defending him when they were children. Some of it, however, was a sincere caring for an individual who had had to weather storms he could not possibly imagine in his absence.

His parents were not any more prone to be kind to Regulus than they were to him...and they would only _tolerate_ if Regulus remained in line. What with him attending school come Autumn, he was not entirely sure how his brother was handling the stress. The Black Family had a reputation for putting a terrible amount of expectation on their progeny with little thought to the consequences, he doubted that Regulus would have been spared...if not handed even worse than he ever had just because his parents were prone to distrust those connected to those disloyal...even if it was only a blood connection. It was one of the reasons he’d driven Regulus away at school; the more enmity he fostered for Sirius, the less likely he was to run afoul of his sire. Sirius didn’t _like_ that he’d had to do that...but it was still a necessity of survival, for both of them.

“What’s the matter with you?”

James’ voice cut into his exhausted haze, and he hated how much every part of him rose to respond just to that familiar tonalization. It was that loyal, too-much Padfoot-like part of him that leapt in response to something it had known a great portion of his life. With his head thrown back, eyes boring holes into the ceiling, Sirius swallowed.

“M’just tired mate” he mumbled. “You can stay. Just...have to go to bed.”

As he spoke, he tried again to rise and this time managed a sort of fumbling grab at the table even as the chair behind him was knocked over. James rose with him, and he acknowledged somewhat vaguely that his eyes were sharper than his...but not by much.

“You can talk to me y’know.”

Sirius huffed out a laugh even as he leaned precariously on the table, his head swinging forward.

“Talk” he groused weakly. “No. Had enough of talking.” He made to push away and stumbled, a pair of long-fingered hands circled his wrists, yanking him up and close in order to steady him. “James...geroff me.”

This near, with his faculties so compromised, there was very little elsewhere he could look save for at the lips before him. And Sirius was _tired_ of fighting everything and everyone, Sirius, at his core, was terribly lonely and terribly afraid of loss. He was tired of fighting his urges, and he was tired of fighting himself. The fire was dying in the hearth, but he could still see the outline of that proud visage that had always held him in such thrall. He was aware of his own aesthetic faculties, but he’d always felt small in the face of James...not because of any sense of inadequacy, but because James had always dwarfed everything merely by existing in his vicinity.

“You’ll never make it to bed on your own” was the grouchy return even as Sirius swayed again. “You’re a mess.”

“S’your fault” the older man complained. “Always...always being stupid.” He waved dangerously. “And my motorcycle’s away. Likely broken.”

James laughed; his breath was warm across his face and Sirius shivered _all over_.

“S’that all you’ve got in terms of insults?” was the cheeky response. “You’re fairly trashed Si.”

Sirius had a long list of regrets.

Such a list, if he bothered to compose it, would likely stretch the circumference of London and not be enough. Sirius regretted not fighting harder for Harry, he regretted dying at an impromptu moment, when he had more to give. He regretted not fighting his sentence with a better head on his shoulders, and he regretted the waste of the life he’d been given in the form of Azkaban, and then in the form of Grimmauld Place. Sirius regretted letting James and Lily die, but a part of him...shoved deep down inside of himself, regretted even more than that never telling James that he loved him. Not because he was handsome or charming, or because he could catch a Snitch like it was nothing. Not because he could pull off the best pranks in the word and get away with it or tapdance in the Great Hall. No, Sirius regretted not telling James that he loved him and he loved _all_ of him. His terrible arrogance, his fierce pride that marked an even fiercer vulnerability. Sirius loved James’ glasses, he loved his stupid nose, he loved his smell and he loved his smile. So when he lost his head completely and leaned inwards it was at least in a gesture more honest than anything he could have done when he was sober. The fabric of the jumper James was wearing was soft under his palms and he wanted to gather him up and hold him close forever.

Sirius had a lot of regrets.

But when he kissed James Potter in his dark and dingy kitchen, with the knowledge that this might be the only chance he ever got, he did not regret it. Even when James froze up, when his normally yappy mouth went still under his, he didn’t.

Not in the slightest.

His lips were chapped but warm.

They tasted of whiskey….but more than that, they tasted of James.

They tasted like home...he _needed_ home; and if he could be home even for a second…

….he could not regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Dust in leg hairs; this is a problem I can confirm, but you don't need a car passing by at high speed for it to happen. Leg hair on a good day is wonky, however, when you walk it sort of tickles in the wind. Because you wanted to know that I'm sure.
> 
> **A _cliffhanger_ , that's jiffy.**  
> Might be some horrendous grammar and spelling errors, probably. Hopefully this wasn't too weird of a chapter.  
> 


	20. Late hours, broken glass and moments of truth [I love you, but I should never have told you]

The thing about getting exactly what one wants is that one is prone to instantaneously want more of it. 

Whether it be comfort, validation, an ego-boost, ‘true love’, or power; humans-wizard and muggle alike-are weak to their vices. And what, exactly would the world do if every single person was given precisely what they desired? It might be safe to assume that the world as it is known would not be the same. It might-due to some ill minded individuals-cease to exist entirely. Therefore, individuals are sometimes presented with situations that seem too good to be true, when in fact they _are_ true, but merely not conscienceable and, thusly, ill-managed. Bungled...much of the high points in life, because they vault perception into an oxygen-bereft stratosphere that sucks the vitally-sustaining exhale of reason from the lungs and fills the head with fantastical and overblown ephemera. The individual is euphoric in the face of that which they beget, and _in_ begetting without care, they are brought low. 

Sirius learned-very quickly-that kissing James was something that he wanted more of. 

Not particularly because he was aroused-he was somewhat unsure if he could even get it up considering his state of squiffiness-but because a facet of him felt _whole_. And it wasn’t some fleeting, dismissable togetherness wrought in considerable drunkenness and overall desperation. No, it was something bone-deep and golden that shuddered from the point of connection into his synapses, had them lighting up like a Christmas tree even as a soul-deep ache that had plagued him most of his life was-for once-made quiet. Sirius had not-quite reasonably, in his opinion-been aware that there was an inward...fragmented part of his person that had so desperately wanted connection with James. Of course, if he _thought_ about it-as much as he could currently think-it made sense. Prongs had defined much of his life, and Sirius had adored Prongs much of his life. For this to feel a little bit like a puzzle piece coming together wasn’t really that far off from generalized logic. The minute the thought crossed his mind, he forgot it, because he was still kissing James even if he was just kissing still, immobile lips like a fucking wanker because it felt _good_. 

There were large, warm hands pressed against his chest; familiar hands...ones he’d watched turn a textbook page just as voraciously as they clutched a broom. Those hands pushed and he was just desperate enough to let out a pathetic, little whimper that reminded him a mite too much of Padfoot and the pushing stopped. James opened his mouth, drew back-perhaps to speak-and Sirius ungracefully chased it, made a wrecked, needy sound and licked weakly into the slack cavern of a mouth. Somewhat distantly, he acknowledged that he was absolutely pissed, and in absolutely no position to be making a move like this, but he absolutely did not _care_ at the current moment. He did not care because James _shuddered_ and swallowed and his tongue moved just the slightest bit-barely reciprocation, but it was _something_ -and James was kissing him back and he could have cried. There was nothing graceful about it; it was clumsy and sloppy, nothing of his usual finesse and James was no better. Too much teeth, too much drink, really, and too much of a hard-edged desperation balanced on the knife-sharp edge of James’ clear indecision...but what he could get he would _take_ because he might not ever get it again. 

The kitchen was dark; a looming, appliance filled space that suddenly meant nothing...even with its dusty corners, with the leaky faucet and the sometimes overtly loud pipes. Somewhere in the background the fire was noisome; throwing shapes onto the living room walls like goldenrod-colored phantoms. It was a coolish night, but not unpleasant. Nothing about this was unpleasant and when a long-fingered hand carded through his hair Sirius _melted_. It was the idle, soft kind of petting James used to do in their younger days. Mostly in private...mostly away from others that would see and the gesture was not only known, it was _safe_. Not only in the sense of himself...but in the sense that he could have Prongs like this...encompass him in his own universe and know where he was. His own hands found the rough surface of a stubble-covered chin...nails dragging through unshaven scruff even as he acknowledged he’d let his hair grow perhaps too long. He couldn’t recall, if he were entirely honest, when he’d last had it cut...even prior to his death...but there wasn’t much that mattered beyond the fact that there was a body pressing into him; that James’ nose was bumping against his. 

Some small facet of himself still clinging to decentness whispered he should stop.

James was not his, his very small, tiny, _minuscule_ lucid brain whispered. James belonged to Lily, belonged to the baby they were going to have but Sirius had wanted this for so long and his judgement was so impaired he frankly did not give a shite. He would, he decided with a solid sort of foppery, let Prongs bang him atop the kitchen table if that was what he wanted. To his very impaired ability to logically deduce, a lack of a boner did not mean that he couldn’t enjoy himself. And even if he couldn’t necessarily feel the all-encompassing, teeth-rattling pleasure he’d always envisioned from such a moment, he could still _have_ this and revisit it later. His arse bumped against the somewhat ramshackle wood surface and he hunched over a bit to retain the kiss, even as he slid upwards onto what was surely going to be a splinter-gathering, possibly very uncomfortable flatness that was still nevertheless filled with promise. 

There was also the fact that he’d never done this with a bloke before. 

Prongs fit himself between his thighs and he shuddered and tipped his head back, blinked frantically at the ceiling and panted stupidly. The table rattled ominously but they both ignored it. He had his misgivings, of course...he really didn’t know much about sex in this particular genderific direction. Sirius took some small comfort in the fact that James probably didn’t know much either. It wasn’t much of a comfort considering everything that prep involved. He’d read up on it...of course, as much as he could have when he’d still held out some hope in his Hogwarts years. Sirius had distinct memories of sequestering himself to a dark corner of the library in order to turn the pages of a book he shouldn’t particularly have had in order to fuel his fantasies. Padfoot had never been one for cracking open tomes, but if it mitigated a thorough and-in his opinion-entirely healthy wank session later, then it was well worth the trouble. James chose that moment to bite down on his lip perhaps a bit too hard and Sirius reeled for a moment, hand flailing and there was an almighty crash as the remainders of the whiskey fell to the floor; as the overpowering smell of spirits pervaded the space. 

Almost immediately, James froze. 

This time...Sirius didn’t chase him because he sensed that he would run. Instead, he stayed slumped on the kitchen table trying to regain his breath even as the built-up warmth that had shivered through him-however little it could with the alcohol in his system-bled away into the floorboards. He could practically _hear_ Prongs trying to process this even as his mouth became suddenly overtly dry and his temples began to pound. More prominent than that, however, was the ache in his chest. It was bottomless...despairing; it had fire pricking at the corners of his eyelids and his lips jerking down into an involuntary frown even as he ruffled his own hair to try and hide it. 

“Si.” 

James' voice was still thick, but it sounded more lucid than he felt. More than that, however, the tone was _pitying_ , and it was that that had Padfoot trying to scramble upwards, to try and jerk away even though he wasn’t half coordinated enough to do any sort of scrambling at all. As if to emphasize his level of far-gone-ness, a sick...acidic feeling bubbled in the back of his throat, had his head swinging to the side as he fought not to retch all over the man who was currently feeling _sorry_ for him. When it passed he redoubled his very weak and poor escape efforts but Prongs was having none of it. 

_”Sirius…” ___

__“F’ck off” the aforementioned man managed to garble. “M’serious.”_ _

__“I know you are” was the gentle, almost-teasing response and at this point Sirius was hacked off enough to try and swing at the tosser before him but James caught his hand easily._ _

__“Go home” Padfoot snapped with as much drunken muster as he could manage._ _

__“No” was the firm response._ _

__Sirius attempted to glare but imagined the effect was lessened by the fact one of his eyes felt practically glued shut._ _

__“If you’re not going to give me what I want-” he began petulantly before a hand cupping his crotch had him practically flailing._ _

__“You’re too sloshed to even get it up” James protested. “I know you think I’m a bloody wanker, but I’m not a _sadist_.” Trying to hide his misery at this point was useless, so Sirius settled with blinking at the far wall. “Sirius...this… _this_!” -a disoriented gesture. “-It needs talk. Proper talk.” _ _

__Against his will, Sirius chuckled. It was a weak and wet sort of chuckle but he must have gotten some of his inward derision across because James grimaced._ _

__“There’s nothing to talk about though” he snorted. “I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was. S’stupid, mad kind of love, and not rightly placed. You don’t deserve it.” The breath James sucked in felt a bit like a fist to the gut. Sirius was not of the right mind to name the emotion behind it, he only knew it felt like _more_ pity, and it only made him feel worse. He felt, quite abruptly, like bawling. Instead, he just choked on another laugh. “Sad, innit? Got you pissed then tried to eat your bloody face.” _ _

__“Sirius” James said weakly. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re several leagues deeper in your drink than I am.” The bespectacled wizard stepped back a bit and Sirius attempted to rise only to nearly fall face first into the floorboards. The only thing that stopped him was an arm slung about his waist. “C’mon now mate, don’t be so hard on yourself. Let me help you to bed eh?”_ _

__“Doesn’t matter” Padfoot moaned at his toes even as they began to make a slow, shuffling path up to his bedroom. “Ruined it. Ruined friendship.”_ _

__James didn’t answer as they made it to the top of the landing. Sirius couldn’t blame him. The amount of concentration it took to help someone to bed when you weren’t exactly sober yourself was titanic. More than that, it took the bespectacled wizard several tries before he was able to get up most of the spilled whiskey so they could shuffle to the stairs. Managing to help a bit by toeing open his door, the onyx-haired man stumbled his way inside before managing to catch himself on his bed. His room was nothing special to look at; certainly nothing compared to his room in Grimmauld place. Like the rest of the flat, the space was small and dingy and with no light save for a faint glimmer coming from the curtains...reflecting the glare of a halogen street light. He had memorabilia scattered here and there, but nothing organized. Most of his Quidditch stuff he’d had to sell off at one point or another in order to keep the flat. There was the mirror they still sometimes used, some scattered newspapers and a very cold, very old cup of coffee. Sirius had, at one point, taken to collecting chocolate frogs, but as far as he was aware that collection was buried under a heap of old school robes and textbooks._ _

__The bed itself was an entirely circular, hanging number that could be charmed to stay still if the sleeper was feeling seasick. It was overtly large, especially in such a small flat, but he didn’t have much else to fill the space with, and the comforter was scattered with various books, several quilts and a likely disproportionate amount of pillows. Slightly concave, the space just in the middle was where Sirius preferred to find himself late at night. Without prompting, Prongs drew his wand and flicked it at the aforementioned mattress and Sirius groaned with involuntary relief as he crawled to the middle and flopped onto his side._ _

__James joined him._ _

__Rather, he took the time not only to kick off his own trainers, but to get Sirius out of his as well before clambering in and making a general mess of the already-messy blankets. He found he didn’t have the energy to argue with the action; his head swimming in a mess of misery and overall general confusion even as his mate managed to get a large enough handful of coverlets to shroud them both before lying down to face him. Another wave of a wand and the lights went out, leaving them with nothing but the dark...the familiar queasiness that always loomed after a heavy drunk, and the tick of the clock on the single nightstand. There was the click of the deadbolt from downstairs, and he understood somewhat vaguely that Prongs had also used his wand to bolt the front door._ _

__“You haven’t ruined anything” James whispered into the darkness. “I’m not going anywhere.”_ _

__Swallowing, Sirius blinked into the blackness before digging his chin into the pillow beneath his head._ _

__“Y’should” he muttered. “S’not right, Jamie.”_ _

__He jumped as a hand threaded through his, blunt nails scraping across his palm before their fingers were interlaced._ _

__“I’m not leaving you alone until we’ve discussed this” was the gruff response. “And right now, neither you nor I are in a position to think this through rightly, let alone have a chat about it.”_ _

__“Shouldn’t have told you” Sirius said miserably. “Shouldn’t have-”_ _

__“-Before you assume anything” was the sharp interruption. “I want you to know it doesn’t disgust me.”_ _

__Padfoot snorted._ _

__“Oi, yeah, makes me feel loads better, you feeling sorry for me.”_ _

__“I don’t feel sorry for you you stupid, hairy, gorgeous wanker” James replied lightly. That shut Sirius up quick-like, and when he didn’t respond, there was a quiet laugh. “What...d’you think I’m blind, Sirius? Do you think I never noticed you, not even once?”_ _

__“Lily” he protested weakly._ _

__There was a long pause, and the darkness gathering at the corner of his eyelids whispered that maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he’d come home, gotten shitfaced and passed out in his kitchen and dreamed all of this up because he was such a desperate, lonely sod. It would be fitting...and it was certainly the sort of ridiculousness his psyche would manage to cook up._ _

__“Lily is a brilliant witch” James said matter-of-factually. “But you’re ignoring the fact you’re a rather brilliant wizard.” A foot nudged his, all bony toes and hard soles before poking upwards to graze over his calves. “And in saying that” a pause, and Sirius got the distinct impression that James was trying to figure out the words. “M’not saying we just do nothing, or we do something. But I’ve been tossed out, and you’ve had a hell of a day I reckon.” The hand holding his squeezed lightly and Sirius closed his eyes. “So, I’m here, yeah? And I’m not going anywhere.”_ _

__“We’re best mates” Padfoot slurred, exhaustion making the act of vocalization tedious._ _

__“Yeah” Prongs muttered, and Sirius told himself that James pulled him close-until they were cocooned against one another-in a gesture of brotherhood, even if it felt like more than that. “And that’s just another reason not to leave this empty.”_ _

__Sirius was exhausted._ _

__The phrase _’run a marathon and a half’_ did not cover the bone-deep weariness that was crawling through his bones. James was warm, he was solid and he seemed determined to stay, and so he somewhat immaturely settled with the fact that if he was going to lay in his bed he was going to acquiesce to Sirius carding his hands through his hair in a frenetic, somewhat desperate gesture before Prongs caught one of them again and pressed his mouth to the knuckles. This...this small solace...this circular warmth...he’d wanted it too much and for too long to really dismiss it or shove it away. There was familiar breath on the nape of his neck...and the world seemed to be spinning down into that single moment...involving acts and confessions and closeness. _ _

__“M’sorry” Sirius said raggedly at length. “I love you.”_ _

__Sirius was exhausted; both from keeping secrets and from divulging them in a situation where they wouldn’t do him much good..save perhaps separate him further. He could, just faintly, still hear the water dripping from the broken faucet and the barrenness of the whole thing didn’t escape him. James was stroking his hair in a way that made the dog in him shiver with ecstasy, and the body molded into his was an anchor and a very slight distraction. Prongs smelled like cedar, he smelled like the aftershave he’d likely used earlier that day. In the face of everything, Sirius rather felt like the morning was a distant dream. So he both heard and didn't react to the statement that came next because he was slipping down a warm, somnolence-centric drain._ _

__“I love you too mate.”_ _

__“I always have.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Would have had this out sooner, but overwork and not sleeping for 72 hours. Passed out at my kitchen island this morning [finally], and slept there until kids came back from being out with some friends, which was a unique and cacophonous-ly snory venture but also involved needing to get food inside me after.
> 
> Hopefully this wasn't entirely OOC, it feels somewhat OOC. May be some errors here, been over it a few times but at this sort of hour it's fishy. Also apologize this is so short but going to bed again directly after this. Don't know if I'm going to update again this weekend, may take some time to kick back. Will get to your comments, am just very burnt out. Thanks for reading and have a great weekend.


	21. Morning Conversations, Toast and Tea [Don't wait up for me]

Sirius woke with a headache the size of an Erumpent.

The first thing to pull him from unconsciousness was a sliver of sunlight filtering in through one of the pathetically small bedroom windows. Cracking an eyelid, the dark-haired wizard promptly wished he hadn’t; it was rather like inviting heavenly beings to come down and shine themselves straight through his corneas until it felt like his head might explode. Once awake and aware, however, sleep was impossible. In some part, due to his mouth feeling like a cesspool, but mostly because he could smell coffee and his stomach clenched in a sort of dread-laden anticipation in regards to the conversation to come. Shifting in the mess of coverlets, Sirius flopped onto his back and stared stonily at the ceiling for a moment, his eyes tracing yet another crack in the moulding above his head. When he had glowered sufficiently, he tried to sort out what he could recollect from the night before.

He had kissed James.

The sober acknowledgement of inebriated action didn’t make him feel any better. Swallowing, Sirius propped himself up on his elbows and looked somewhat blankly at his bare feet. He couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing having it all out in the open. His pride insisted it was a bad thing, that surely the exposure of hidden, cloistered emotions he had held so jealousy to himself for what now amounted to decades could amount to no good. Emotionally he felt...relieved. His feelings for James _were_ something he had guarded fiercely, with no regard to how it would cost himself or others. More than that, they’d kept him from finding anything else romantically as long as they remained unaddressed and unapparent. Sirius wouldn’t have to-and _couldn’t_ if one were entirely realistic-deal with rejection if he never confessed. This meant he could keep his feelings, but he couldn’t particularly give his heart to anyone else either.

It meant he was never exposed, but it also meant that he could never, ever move on.

Shimmying himself downwards until his feet touched the floor, the dark-haired wizard fumbled around for a bit before he found his wand on a bedside table and another pair of socks in a drawer. Leaving his trainers for the moment, he took a whiff of his shirt before deciding it was likely better to wear another one regardless considering the difference of day and the warmish weather. Shoving a fresh one over his head, he gave a somewhat cranky nod to the idealism that most folks didn’t struggle so much in the area of romantic loyalty. It was a bit barmy, if he really wanted to self-flagellate before he’d gotten any food in him. The great majority of the populace would cut their losses and comprehend the hopelessness of unrequited love; likely years beforehand. Sirius, however, had problems with loyalty, particularly when it came to matters of the heart. And he had always been loyal to James, so to walk away from his feelings felt like betraying James, even if it was just a nonexistent facet of his best mate that had never had any reality anywhere save the recesses of his very troubled mind.

He hated that he’d managed to work up to anything smashed to high heaven.

It would, he reasoned, be easy enough for him to write everything off under the ticker of _’I was off my head’_ , and James would probably accept it. Opening the door to wander up the hall to the washroom to brush his teeth, Sirius acknowledged that this was not an option because it was utter cowardice. He couldn’t hide behind something unhealthy in order not to face that fact that he’d done what he’d done and said what he’d said and it was all true. Sirius had said enough horrible, smurshy, entirely smelly things sloshed to hell to differentiate between being a nasty drunk and a very desperate fellow. His self-awareness was not so low that he was entirely incapable of taking responsibility for his actions and admitting that there was truth to his statements. Twenty...maybe not even ten years ago he couldn’t have said the same of himself, but he had learned that avoidance for the sake of self-preservation didn’t put him anywhere but sick and sorry. He had also learned the dogged stubbornness was neither helpful nor progressive.

James had made breakfast.

‘Made’ was a somewhat technical term because it look like James had _tried_ to make several breakfasts of decreasing levels of complexity-all burnt-and then tossed them in the bin while trying to hide the disaster that was the pileup of dishes in the sink with a dishtowel. Toast had worked for him as well as anything could; or, rather, toast seemed to be the only thing that had worked for him, because that was what was sitting at the table; a very large pile of toast and jam and a very morose looking Prongs who was sipping his coffee and looking as if he regretted his decision to wake up so early to fail at breakfast. Sirius was no chef, but he could scramble eggs, which was apparently more than his best mate could do. He’d never have tried making a full fry-up, it was practically written in the stars that it would end badly. If there was one thing Hogwarts was lacking in, it was in preparatory courses for witches and wizards to navigate household responsibilities. With a veritable army of house elves to feed ever-hungry students, there was little point for it in any case.

The fire flared green momentarily, and Sirius jumped.

James flicked his wand he observed as whoever was at the end of the line was cut out from the floo. A hot wave of stomach-churning guilt filled him when Sirius acknowledged it wasn’t exactly a question of who. Looking to Prongs, he was favored with a smile that leaned more towards a pained grimace. He looked tired, Sirius noted...not merely due to likely having a hangover, but due to strain and stress. Even more guiltily, the now-disowned primary heir to the Black family realized that whatever anxiety he was feeling was likely _nothing_ to what James was feeling. By kissing James, he had made his stance clear, but James had kissed him back and now they both had to face the parameters of what that meant. He could, Padfoot acknowledged in a miserable sort of way, write it off as nothing but drunken stress. James wasn’t the type for cowardice, but he was the type for self-preservation and James had a lot to lose. Sirius was not entirely sure whether he was worth that much to James...if facing this was worth it, or if James was just going to try and let him down easy...laugh it off and expect to be best mates come a week or so of space.

“Sirius, I reckon if you stand there any longer turning your brains you’re going to think yourself into a biscuit.” Against his will, the aforementioned man let out a chuckle even as James kicked out the chair next to him expectantly. “C’mon, sit down and let’s have a chat before you run for the hills.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sirius muttered, sidling into the chair nonetheless and flushing when James gave him a hairy look. “Alright, maybe in the past I _would_ have, but I’ve grown a little bit since then you know.”

“Yes, you’re at the height of manhood” James groused, tearing into a mouthful of toast and continuing around it. “Conthidering you kith your betht mate wrecked outh your thkull and thay you’ve loved him thinth forever.”

Sirius kicked him and was forced to subsequently pound him on the back when he choked on his toast.

“I said I was grown, I didn’t say that I was right in the head.”

“You don’t have to tell me that” Prongs spluttered, reaching for a cup of tea. “R’you eating? I didn’t slave over this breakfast for nothing.”

He laughed because it felt good and because he really, truly couldn’t help it when it came to James.

“O’ yea” Sirius snickered. “I can tell, from the state of my kitchen.” When James looked glum it only set him off harder and it was several moments before he’d gotten a good handle on himself again. “I appreciate it, James, I do, but don’t do it again.” Pulling the tower of toast towards him, Sirius swiped one off the top and ignored its coldness in favor of hunting for the jam. “S’not like you didn’t kiss me back.”

With the prior statement, the tentative mirth that had suffused the room seemed to get sucked out of it entirely. It was replaced with an uncertain, almost deadpan unwieldiness that was nearly physical in substance. James cleared his throat and buried himself in his tea even as Sirius took a likely unnecessarily large bite of toast. It went down thick and not particularly appetizing...dropping leaden into his stomach, swimming aside the wound up ball of anxiety that seemed to encompass his entire being. The clock on the wall seemed overly loud all of a sudden, and he somewhat escapist-ly recognized that it was Tuesday and he could really just say he had to go to work and James would be gone by the time he came back. He couldn’t do that, however, with any of the semblance of conscience left in him, and so he took a few more bites of toast until he felt like he might be sick if he had anymore and then got up to do the dishes. James rose with him, an uncertain look on his face.

“I made the mess, I ought to make it right.”

Sirius paused before shaking his head and continuing to the sink, talking over his shoulder as he did so.

“Think it’s fair to say that I’ve made the bigger mess, the least I can do is clean up breakfast.”

It took him a good hour to put things to right, and by the time he was finished James was in the living room flipping listlessly through the Prophet. Every so often, his eyes would glaze over behind his spectacles and Sirius knew the look well enough to know that he was trying to stay grounded in a moment that felt really quite unhinged. He couldn’t say he felt much better. A part of him wanted to run with it...make it a secret, entirely lascivious and exciting affair that would end up hurting absolutely everyone. He was not, despite his earlier statements, immune to selfishness. There was a facet of him that would likely take James however he could get him and damn the consequences. They could meet every few weeks, it reasoned, get sloppy drunk and fuck their brains out and pretend that it never happened come morning. Maybe they’d have a few romantic moments here and there...enough to keep the spark alive, but not enough that anyone would suspect anything.

These were residual ghosts of the young man in him who had never lived with a care to others.

James was careless but he wasn’t entirely dismissive. Both of them had egos, and both of them _certainly_ had a large amount of pride, but it didn’t blind them to what was right or wrong. If they were blinded he supposed that at this point neither of them would be much better than Voldemort. There were times, during his Hogwarts years...times when he was away from James and holed up with himself that he could acknowledge that if they’d gotten together during that time they might have went somewhere terribly dark simply because of their ability to feed one another’s negative proclivities. Better now than before...when there was nothing and no one, no facet of responsibility to check them. The Marauders were chaotic enough without the chaos of a relationship that would have been doomed to pervasive, individualistic, and carnal greed. Sirius had once taken pride in having few limits, but he’d come to understand that limits were necessary in order to have morals.

“We do need to talk about this.”

Sirius blinked and refocused on James from the entryway to the kitchen. The bespectacled wizard had put the Prophet down and was looking at him with an expression that was hard to read. Nodding jerkily, Padfoot pushed himself off the wall and lowered himself into a seat opposite the younger man. When he did, James took a moment to scrub his hands over his face before glancing at the fire once more.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

Swallowing, the older wizard looked down at this his feet before opening his mouth.

“Since fourth year” he replied. “Likely longer.” When James looked incredulous he barked out a bitter laugh. “What d’you want me to say, James? I won’t lie to you, mate. Couldn’t rightly tell you when it started, only that it sort of” he waved a hand vaguely. “It grew, it grew until I couldn’t ignore it anymore, and when I couldn’t ignore it, I hid it.”

“You love me,” James stated bluntly, and Sirius grimaced.

“Yeah, but not just in the...brotherly fashion, if you get my meaning.” When James didn’t reply, he forced himself not to get up and start pacing. “I...didn’t _want_ you to know, you had too much else going for you, and we were already reckless as it was.”

“But how do you _know_?” Padfoot favored his friend with a confused look, and James looked impatient. “How do you know it’s love?”

“Oh, I don’t know” Sirius returned, now feeling rather irritated. “Maybe because I couldn’t get my mind off you, maybe because everywhere I looked, in some manner or form, I was looking towards you or something that would tickle your fancy.”

“But you were always after some bird or another” Prongs pressed. “Can’t think of a moment you weren’t up in a broom closet with-”

“-Didn’t commit to any of them though, did I?” Sirius interrupted, raising a brow. “Why d’you think that is?”

James shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

“I dunno, always figured you just weren’t the type to commit.” A flush appeared high on his cheeks. “And, I always thought you wanted Lily.”

Sirius laughed but it was incredulous and a little bitter.

“I didn’t commit to any of them because whenever I was having a fumble with one of them I was thinking of _you_.” He snorted. “Bad form, if you ask me, to promise yourself to someone when you’re thinking of someone else every time you’re trying to have a snog.” Kicking at the ottoman in front of him, he glared at it before continuing. “As for E- _Lily_ , I didn’t want her, you tosser, I wanted _you_.”

“Yes, well, I get that now” James muttered, staring at the fire. “Get a lot of things now, actually.” Sirius had no real clue what to say to that, so he remained silent and tried not to shrivel up inside entirely. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Yeah, well, I didn't, did I?” Padfoot retorted, crossing his arms and rubbing at his shoulders before traversing downwards. “You’ve given me enough, no need to burden you with more of my rubbish.”

“It’s not rubbish” James snapped, and Sirius caught himself, lowered his arms and looked at the younger man, somewhat surprised. Prongs still wouldn’t look at him, but his eyes behind his glasses were indignant as he stared at his palms. “Your feelings aren’t rubbish” he reiterated. “And I’m sorry if I’m making you feel like they are.”

“You’re not-”

“-I _am_ ” was the huffed cutoff. “And it’s not because I’m put off by it.” A lengthy pause. “It’s because, if I look at this logically, I’m the exact opposite, and the amount of damage we could do rushing into this is catastrophic.”

“You feel exactly opposite me” Sirius reiterated flatly.

“ _No_ ” James snapped. “I feel the exact opposite of _put off_.”

Padfoot had nothing clever to say to that, and so he said nothing clever;

“Oh.”

“D’you think you were the only one sneaking a look in the showers, or peeking over a spellbook to check out an arse?”

“Well, no” Sirius blurted out dumbly. “But I thought I was the only one having a peek in the showers to look at my mate’s arse.” When James looked unimpressed, he rolled his eyes. “Well, I _did_. You didn’t show any interest in blokes, didn’t think for a second you were bent-”

“-I didn’t think for a second that _you_ were bent!” James yelped. “And _I’m_ not bent, I just-I’ve not just fallen for any fellow who’s got nice eyes and ridiculous hair and a brilliant grin.”

“I’m not bent either” Sirius snapped.

There were a few moments where both wizards glared at each other in a kind of silent denial.

“So, what” James spluttered. “We’re just gay for each other?!”

“Works for me” Sirius growled, slumping in his seat. “And why don’t you _explain_ yourself a bit better.”

_”Explain myself?”_

“Yeah, as you said, ‘how do you know it’s love?’ or something to that nature?”

“I didn’t say it was love” James backpedaled, and Sirius had to cough into his arm in order to hide the fact that that hurt, _a lot._ "Not _that_ sort of love, anyhow." He coughed for perhaps fifteen seconds before he felt like he could even face the man before him without looking like he’d just slapped him in the face.

“So what is it, really, James” Sirius snapped. “D’you think I’m another conquest?! Am I something else you have to _win_ and then toss in your proverbial rubbish heap?” James opened his mouth to reply but the older man wasn’t having it. “I’ll be the first one to admit that I can be the type to get rowdy in the sheets without much thought, but what’s Lily to you then, eh? What about your little one on the way? What d’you think you’re going to get from this, James? A good fuck? Get it out the system?” He laughed and it was loud and bitter. “Because let me tell you, mate, you’ve got every single bolt in that overinflated head of yours screwed on topsy-turvy if you think I’m letting you an _inch_ near my goods with that kind of attitude, I’m worth more than that _bud_. At least at this point in my life I can say _’blimey, maybe I shouldn’t let my best mate screw me senseless then leave me to rot, because maybe that would **destroy** whatever’s left of what I’ve got to lose’_, a good chunk of it anyhow and-!”

“-Sirius _stop_.”

Every ounce of him wanted to do the exact opposite in regards to what James was asking him to do.

Taking a deep breath and clenching his hands on the arm of his chair, Sirius gritted his teeth and tipped his head back. James had come to stand before him, like the great, idiotic lump that he was and it was _very_ difficult not to just bark at him to eff off, because that’s what he felt like doing. James, however, looked very much like he’d like to throw himself in a lake, and that was the only thing stopping him from going entirely off his head.

“Sirius” James repeated tightly. “I _don’t_ see you as a conquest, and that’s the bloody problem.” A shake of a shaggy head. “I don’t-I don’t know what to _do_ , and if you think so low of me-”

“-I don't,” Sirius replied...nearly knee-jerk.

“You do” James muttered, reaching out and knocking his knuckles where they were wrapped tightly around the arm of the chair. “Christ, Sirius, we’re not teenagers anymore. When you’re this deep into it, there are no entirely good answers.”

“When did you know?” Padfoot demanded, staring at the hand still resting atop his knuckles but open-handed.

James grimaced.

“Mum used to ask me when I was going to propose to you” he mumbled, and when the older wizard looked at him incredulously, he laughed. “Sounds barmy, doesn’t it? But she did. Spent all our time together, didn’t we? And it’s not so uncommon, might not have lost your folks that way, pureblood marrying pureblood.”

“Piss on that” Sirius blurted out, and James grinned.

“That’s the spirit.” A heaved sigh and Prongs closed his eyes. “I don’t know what love feels like, Sirius.” A pause. “I _thought_ I did, but maybe you’ve not got it entirely wrong in regards to me. Just used to getting whatever I want...but everything with you, was different. You were always _different_ , and I don’t know if that’s love, I don’t know what anything is, if I’m frank.”

“You were always there for us,” the older wizard replied. “It’s not like you’re entirely rotten.”

“We were always there for each other” James corrected him. “And you’re not a charity case, Si, I don’t want you thinking that. Come to the realization lately that I have no idea who I bloody am, and maybe I thought I’d find that with Lily.” A choked laugh. “It is _so_ , _completely_ , unfair to her, poor thing. She didn’t ask for any of it, treated me like a plague and maybe it would have done her better to keep treating me that way, I don’t deserve her, at all.” Another silent stretch of wordless space. “I don’t deserve you either, not when I don’t know what it is, what I feel.” A pause and familiar eyes focused on his lips before darting away. “I should go.”

Swallowing, feeling a little bit torn in half again, and not a little bit resentful, Sirius withdrew his hand.

“What will you do?”

Pulling on his trainers, James seemed to struggle to yank himself from thought.

“I’ll have to tell Lily,” he replied heavily. “I’m not going to run from this anymore, there’s no point to it now it’s been acted on. Before, I could ignore it, pretend it wasn’t something, but what’s done is done. She’ll likely kick me out, I’ll go and stay with my folks. I can’t stay here, it’s not good for either of us.”

“This is my fault” Sirius said miserably.

“No,” James said firmly, straightening. “It’s not. You warned me away and I came anyhow, knew you were vulnerable and ignored that because I can’t do anything but give myself mixed signals. Both you and Lils are on equal footing, you ought to be furious with me.”

Sirius laughed, but it was sad, exhausted, and entirely done.

“I’ve never been able to stay tossed off at you for long, Prongs.”

A hand grasped his from where it was slowly tangling in his hair and Sirius watched as James smoothed his fingers across his knuckles, his face desolate.

“I know” was the hoarse reply. “And that’s the thick of the problem. You’re my best mate, I’ll not give you false hope or promises.”

“I don’t want them,” Sirius choked.

Prongs smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes...not in the sense of anything but affection, and a kind of slow, tempered sadness.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Sirius. I’m trying to be honest with you.”

Nodding, not trusting himself to speak, the aforementioned man swallowed and ducked his head when long fingers carded through his hair. The gesture was nostalgic, it was both welcome and unwelcome.

“You know where I am,” he replied finally, looking up.

Turning towards the fire, James paused and favored him with a considering look.

“Yea, I do. But Sirius...do me a favor.” The fire flared green even as Sirius raised a questioning eyebrow. When he did James made a helpless gesture. “...Don’t wait up for me, metaphorically.”

“...I dunno how much time it’ll take for me to get back, if I do at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Will get to your comments but am very pressed for time lately. Have a great weekend.
> 
> If there are grammar errors, will get to them eventually.


	22. Phoenix feathers, letters, and talks with flowers [muggle deaths, regrets, and silent hours]

With the absence of James, Sirius threw himself into his mission.

This time, in any case...between having to work to make ends meet. It was easier done this time, with the heaviness of lack of confession off his shoulders, and the knowledge that if James chose to speak with him, he would. Pretending that the idea of James not loving him-not that way in any case-didn’t hurt him was pointless. There was a large facet of hurt within him that whispered that maybe James was just having him on. He knew, logically, that James wouldn’t do something like that, even if it was easier to think that he would. 

Sirius was used to discard when it came to forms of affection. The idealism of romance was a narrow focal; he had been shown, repeatedly, by many that he was disposable if he became an inconvenience. Rationally, he could acknowledge that love was not an inconvenience unless one made themselves particularly annoying, but the fragile and dim part of his psyche inundated with self-dislike insisted otherwise. There was also the facet of him that was eternally of the mind that he was aged; this particular facet was constantly warring with his younger side for dominance. It was, or so he found, very difficult to approach love casually when a part of his brain was constantly declaring _’I’m too bloody old for this’_ over and over again. 

He received a brief message from Dumbledore. 

The note itself came in the form of Fawkes; or at least, one of his feathers which exploded into existence while he was trying to have supper. It was, he found, very hard not to behead himself with a steak knife when a temporarily-flaming missive decked in fiery plumage made its presence known over a badly but honestly-prepared roast. Sirius also found the Albus was prone to great stretches of text in regards to polite tedium regarding the weather and the recipient’s good health. In polite company he wouldn’t have said that it made him want to throw the whole thing in the fire but he was hardly ever in polite company and so he was not uncomfortable saying that the thought crossed his mind several times. 

Other than extensive ramblings in areas regarding how hot it was and his apparent proclivity to run into danger whether he willed it or not, there was very little forthcoming. If he wanted to go so far into accusation as to hedge on the Dumbledore-esquely treasonous, he would say that it was deliberately cryptic. The Headmaster gave some indication that he had found something, or perhaps several somethings, but seemed reluctant to discuss it in detail. Upon reflection, Sirius supposed that if it was of a sensitive nature it would be careless to discuss it over post in any case, so he tried not to read too much into it. He wasn’t provided with a time and date to meet, and it seemed like the older wizard-the _much_ older wizard-would need more time in order to sort things out properly before he came to a definitive conclusion. This did nothing to assuage his impatience, but it at least reassured him that Dumbledore was taking things seriously. 

Then, of course, there was the latest string of Muggle killings.

The Prophet, unsurprisingly, was rather censored on the topic, but news came in the form of Peter, who apparently sat close to members of the Auror Department at luncheon and eavesdropped to his heart’s content. There was, apparently, a stringent focus on the killings, but there was also a focus on the killings of Muggle-born wizards, who were among some of the unmentioned victims. The Ministry was a bit clueless as to the perpetrators...or at least put up a good semblance of cluelessness, which Sirius had little patience for. Remus was perhaps the most embroiled but the least forthcoming. The last letter Padfoot had received from him was disjointed and somewhat confusing in nature. It was mostly a statement in regards to the fact that he wouldn’t be hearing from Moony save here and there, at strange times and for cryptic unsolid reasons. Sirius knew, from talking to Remus in a different timeline years later that he was going to get himself embroiled in Voldemort’s habit of enlisting werewolves. Sirius also knew that the amount of trauma Remus would have to endure in such a position would leave him scarred for life, but he didn’t know how to communicate how adverse the decision was without putting Remus in possible danger by sending an owl back. Every time a new spiel of murders hit the front page of the Prophet he grew a little more desperate, and a little more resigned because it was _just_ like the time before. 

Then he remembered the death of the Potters. 

Specifically, the deaths of Euphemia and Fleamont. It was absolutely stupid, really, the aforementioned events and his utter disregard for them. Six weeks after James walked out his front door Sirius woke up drenched in sweat and furious with himself for forgetting. He was, effectively, so disappointed in himself that if Snape had walked into his bedroom and declared he was going to curse him pink and purple he would have told him to have at it and add a little bit of blue and yellow besides. After spending an hour sitting about in abject horror and self-loathing, he worked up the gumption to throw on some clothes and tear his way off to Diagon Alley where he immediately spent most of his paycheck-converted from Muggle money of course-on books regarding Dragon Pox. Most of them would prove to be entirely worthless, but at the time he was willing to take what he could get. 

The shopkeeper at Flourish and Blotts gave him a strange look when he came staggering up to the rhetorical till with his pile of mostly useless literature, but didn’t comment otherwise and he was grateful for it. He spent a week pouring over the books merely to discern that the only way to avoid Euphemia and Fleamont dying of the Pox for sure was to _en_ sure that they didn’t catch it all. James’ parents were older, much older. From what he could-with his very limited academic noggin-understand, that put them at a higher risk for infection-and, by proxy, death-already. Sirius did not know the exact manner or means with which they contracted the pox, but he had a sneaking suspicion it might have been at James and Lily’s wedding. 

This, of course, was not good news. 

Neither of the Potters were overtly social individuals, nor did they tend to infringe upon people’s personal space. It only made sense they would catch it at the wedding, due to the influx of guests-though not a large amount of guests, from his memory-and whatever nasty bugs they were carrying on their persons. Somewhat despairingly, Sirius acknowledged that it could very well have been him that gave it to them. He wasn’t exactly mixing with high society during that time, and even if he was strong enough not to get sick, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t have passed it on to someone else. Peter, of course, was also suspect. Or, really, the Peter in the _other_ timeline was suspect because who knew what dastardly business he was getting up to at that point. The Wormtail in this timeline, however, was kept so squeaky clean and tidy by his wife that Sirius sometimes imagined he could see his reflection on his sweaty face whenever he was invited over for dinner. Remus, really, was the only person other than him who was at risk for exposure, and he couldn’t exactly just decide not to go to the wedding, he imagined that excuse would not go over well. 

_”I’m sorry mate, I can’t be your best man, I’m covered in magical germs.”_

That was, of course, assuming that the wedding happened at all at this point. 

What with James’ confession, his blatant infidelity, and Lily’s pregnancy, Sirius reckoned he would be shocked straight out of his trousers if any sort of nuptials happened at all. He was, really, surprised that no letter had come, or maybe a howler, informing him of the cancellation of the festivities and telling him what a right sod he was for snogging the groom. Feasibly, he might not have to save the Potters at all. Otherwise, he couldn’t rightly keep them inside their house until their time of death had passed. He was fairly sure that Euphemia would grab him by the ears and tell him to mind if he tried to tell _her_ that she oughtn’t go anywhere because she might turn green and spotty. Fleamont, he was certain, would laugh, mostly because he would enjoy watching Sirius be dragged about by the ears. 

Gritting his teeth around a spare knut, Sirius ducked his head and tried to see through the grease in order to discern what he was doing with the motorcycle he was currently repairing. Shop, in of itself, was the most calming part of his day. When he went home, he immediately set to trying to hunt for Regulus or worrying about the timeline in some other way. Here, at least, he was able to process his thoughts while he worked even if he walked away from it looking a bit oily and smeary. The shop itself wasn’t overly busy, especially on Fridays, as it was that day. Most of his co-workers had their own singular projects and repairs, much like himself, and talk was minimal, which he surely didn’t mind at all. Hands slipping, Sirius cursed and then promptly yelped as he bit down on the knut in his mouth. Dropping the offending item on the ground, Sirius reached into his pocket and flicked his wand surreptitiously, watching with a kind of begrudging satisfaction as his work was made about a thousand times easier. 

“Do they let you get away with that normally?” 

It seemed his day was to be fraught with injury. 

At the very least, it seemed his day was going to be fraught with stupid mishaps, because when Lily spoke over his shoulder Sirius jumped up so quickly he knocked himself into a tool cabinet and the wrench sitting atop it fell straight down on his foot. Once he’d finished hopping about and cussing ungracefully-though mostly at low volume so as to not alert his boss-Sirius retrieved the wrench with perhaps a large amount of grudge-filled force and placed it back from whence it came. He then turned to face E-Lily, who was watching him without the slightest bit of amusement. 

“Not normally, no” he said breezily. “But what they don’t know won’t do them any harm will it?” 

This was, if possible, the worst thing he could say. 

The minute the words left his mouth he knew they were the worst things he could possibly say. There was nothing he could do, however, to take them back now, so he was forced to swallow and watch as Lily’s face turned nearly as red as her hair. 

“Is that just your day to day mantra?” she replied, her voice deceptively light. “For, everything?” Lily took a step closer and he automatically took a step back, nearly falling over the bike he was working on in the process. “For things like, oh, I don’t know Sirius, maybe _kissing my boyfriend?!_ ” 

“Look-” Sirius began desperately. 

“-No” Lily snapped. _”You_ look, for once, Sirius, _look_ and I mean _look at me_.” He did, swallowing convulsively during the process. Her eyes bored into his...seemed to examine him from every angle, every facet...and he was sure he was going to get hexed, but instead Lily seemed to deflate. “I knew,” she said bitterly. “I always knew.” 

He didn’t know what to say. 

He didn’t, because he was fully aware that there were no words he could possibly come up with that would assuage the pain Lily was feeling. And he hadn’t _meant_ for it to turn out this way, there was a part of him that wished that it never had, but another part that acknowledged wishing for something and actually having it were two different things. He couldn’t dismiss his feelings for James any more than he could dismiss the fact that he’d carelessly acted upon them. Opening his mouth and closing it uselessly once more, Sirius shook his head and took a deep breath even as Lily began to pace in an agitated, frenetic sort of manner. He didn’t count the amount of times she crossed the floor of the shop in front of him...it was a useless venture, and he refused to allow himself to get distracted by minute and pointless details. After a while, she slowed and stopped, tugging at the collar of her T-shirt before focusing on him once more. 

“I’m pregnant” she said, and though her voice was harsh, it was also inundated with grief. “I am _pregnant_ , Sirius, and I have to face the fact that the man I love-” she broke off and her face worked furiously for a few moments. “-And I _do_ love him, you know. He’s so-” she broke off again and swiped angrily at a tear. 

“He’s James,” Sirius finally said weakly. A slightly hysterical laugh was what he got in return. 

“Yes, well, I suppose you’d know wouldn’t you?” she said bitterly. 

“I didn’t mean-”

“-It doesn’t _matter_ what you did or didn’t mean” Lily interjected angrily. “It doesn’t, because it’s done, and over, and now-” a pause and she took a great heaving breath. “-And now _this_ , and I don’t even know why I’ve come here.” 

He still didn’t know what to say. 

Looking at the floor, Sirius watched as an ant crawled over his trainers. He felt terrible. Really, he felt absolutely _rotten_. Especially since nothing regarding James was certain save that James now didn’t know what to do with himself, and it was entirely his fault. 

“I love him,” Sirius finally said stupidly. 

“I know you do,” Lily replied softly. “I love him too, I know what that looks like.” Opening her mouth, his conversational companion appeared to rethink things and instead just worked her jaw for a moment before her teeth came together with an audible _*click*_. “Whatever he decides,” she said at length. “I won’t have him back.” When Sirius made a pained noise, she glared at him. “Do you really think I’m the type of girl who’s got no self respect? He’s been indecisive, he’s _always_ been indecisive, and brash and arrogant. And I let myself get swept up in that.” 

“He means well,” Sirius said miserably. 

“Meaning well and doing well are two entirely different things.” A pause. “And...I know when I’ve got no quarter, I’m not going to sit there like some daft, silly, loon and let him tell me he loves me when he’s only got eyes for you.” 

“That’s not tr-”

“-You haven’t been around” she interrupted. “And I appreciate that, I do, in the sense of past tense, but all he talks about is you. All he’s ever _talked_ about is you just in a roundabout, gooney way and if he’s not talking about you he’s talking about Quidditch.” 

“But he doesn’t _love_ me” Sirius replied, despite how miserable saying the words aloud made him feel. “He’s said as much.” 

A pause, and there was another long stretch of time where he felt like Lily was scrutinizing him down to his bones. 

“Sirius,” she said finally, and her tone was clipped, strained. “James doesn’t treat anyone with as much deference and respect as he does you.” Green eyes disappeared under crimson lashes. “He steamrollers over everyone he can have and pickets anyone he can’t until they fold like a stack of cards, but he adores you. He’s always done, and just because he doesn’t know his own head doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t already know what it wants.” A bitter laugh. “And it took me a long time to wake up to that...I don’t know if I like waking up very much.” 

“I’m sorry,” Padfoot said desperately. 

“I know you are,” Lily whispered. “I suppose that’s why I’m so bloody angry about it. You’re not without your qualities, Sirius, even if you treat yourself poorly and you walk like the world’s beneath you and you’ve got your head in the clouds. Both you and James...together, you’re enigmatic, you’re without stoppable cause.” Opening her eyes again, Lily shot him a look that was almost pitying. “And the worst part is that even with all this in the open, you’re the one left with uncertainty.” Another laugh. “Honestly, that man, the amount of damage he does, however unconventionally or unintentionally, is completely postal.” 

“I’m not damaged” Sirius replied somewhat crankly, hating the chastising look he got in return. 

“You’re lovesick” Lily replied. “You’ve been lovesick for James practically since you’ve known him. I know what it’s like to want James, but I haven’t wanted him as long as you have. I don’t _like_ what you’ve done, and I’m finding it very hard to like you right now, but I don’t hate you. Hating you would be counterproductive.” 

There was more silence between them, and Sirius stared miserably out at the street. When Lily didn’t speak for some time, he opened his mouth. 

“So what now?” he asked gruffly. 

Fixing him with another one of those uncomfortably shrewd looks, Lily hitched her Muggle purse higher on her shoulder before looking at the road as well. 

“I’m going to stay with my parents,” she said finally. “For a little while. I can’t bear to be in that house alone, not with the memories. From there, I’ll decide what to do. Despite...all this, he’s still the father of our child. I won’t take that from him just because he’s a right tosser. He might deserve it, but the baby deserves a father.” 

“You’re a better person than I am,” Sirius said tiredly. 

A smile, and it was brilliant, as Lily usually was, but also tight. 

“For once, I know that to be a certainty.” She stepped back and took a deep breath. “Goodbye for now, Sirius.” 

She didn’t wait around to hear his reply. 

By the time he’d mustered enough wit to formulate one, she’d Apparated away and his boss was yelling at him to get on with it. Returning to his work, albeit halfheartedly, Sirius found he could barely concentrate. It was difficult to concentrate with the knowledge that your best mate’s…whatever she was had come in, absolved him yet not, and then left him veritably flapping in the wind. He knew he didn’t deserve anything more than that, certainly not after all that he’d done, but it was still jarring and disturbing. It took him twice as long as it usually would to finish his work on the bike, and he didn’t feel better after it. His own bike he’d managed to collect and put together in segments and parts after his spectacular crash landing and subsequent kidnapping. He didn’t take it out much, but he surmised he could do with a ride after work...just to feel the wind in his face...to blank it all out. Lily was right in the sense that he was left with uncertainty regarding James, and that uncertainty made him feel a bit like a vibrating guitar string...just on and on into some oblivion-related ether. 

He supposed his preoccupation with his actions was why he didn’t see anything coming. 

By the time four o’clock came around, Sirius was mentally and physically drained. Just clocking out proved a challenge, and on any other day he’d have been glad to have received his end-of-the-week paystub, but he just felt like throwing it to the ground...because he didn’t deserve it. It was a quick hike back from the shop to his flat, and he took a slower, slightly more scenic route in order to clear his mind of the mess of work and livelihood. Theoretically, that was the goal in any case...by the time he made it home, his head didn’t feel any clearer than before. When he flicked his wand to open the door lock, it didn’t register to him that the customary click indicative of the latch giving was absent. Instead, he merely trudged his way inside, made to kick off his boots at the hat stand and then realized that there was someone already there. Who it was he couldn’t say, he didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize there were three other people standing in his living room. 

He didn’t get to ruminate on that much further because he was promptly stunned. 

Later, Sirius would reflect that he had the dumbest stint of ill-luck in the world. That was later, however, when he woke up in the middle of a circle of Death Eaters looking keen to kick him around. For the foreseeable future, however, Sirius was out cold. 

It didn’t get much more cut and dry than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An hour past the mark here.  
> Apologies for the delays.  
> Also a bit short but getting some groove back.  
> weird cliffhangers.


	23. Beasts in Black, Mind Barriers and Hoods, A Wall in A Smile [a colazione in the woods]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** :  
> Some psychologically disturbing situations.  
> Mental torture.

Despite some appearances otherwise, Sirius was actually rather an optimist.

Lying on cold, hard soil with a plethora of Death Eaters about him, the dark-haired wizard reflected that one would have to be a bit of a positive thinker in order to pull off the pranks that he and James had during their Hogwarts years. It took some level of barmy and even greater levels of cheerful angst to do what they had done for so many years and ultimately suffer very few consequences. He couldn’t ignore the fact that most of that indomitable ‘spirit’ in regards to mischief was mostly James, but the Marauders were all party to some form of external rollercoaster-ism when it came to purview. Someone decided it was high time to kick him in the side and he muffled his groan under a hail of cuss words that only got him walloped harder.

So, optimism.

Or, perhaps, insanity, but he was his own man and he could call it optimism if he very bloody well liked.

It was impossible, from his current vantage point, to tell exactly where he was, only that it was some sort of forest. There were branches as far as his very limited ocular spectrum could reach, and he could hear some small snatches of birdsong from the quickly fading day. If he’d been less tired, he might have gotten a good gander at the location of the setting sun, but he was not less tired and so he settled with staring blankly at the ‘canopy’ above him. He took little comfort from the fact that he was likely still in Britain. Continentally, it didn’t very much matter where he was, he was still captured and there was not very much he could do about it. His wand was poking him in the groin-and that was actually very concerning, it was entirely possible to rid himself of his reproductive assets entirely by accident-but he didn’t dare go for it in his current position. Sirius’ core concern was escape, but the Marauder in him wanted to know why the jig was up, and why _now_.

A high pitched laugh answered that question for him rather quickly.

Bellatrix was a bit of an anomaly in the Black family in the sense that no one was very fond of her but she had still managed to do fairly well for herself. If one could call falling in with a dark lord ‘doing very well’. The Lestranges had a somewhat dark history; dark history beyond inter-family marriage and blatantly corrupt lineage. Sirius was not intimately familiar with the details of her nuptials, only that it was pure-blooded to a degree that was nauseating and that her husband was no less sadistic than she was. Folks sometimes were prone to forget that good ol’ Bella was married considering her fanatical infatuation-in later years, in any case-with Voldemort but Sirius could only assume it was an infatuation that Rodolphus had approved of. Really, he doubted whether it mattered if Rodolphus approved of it or not, it was likely not worth arguing over. Once upon a time, a long time ago, The Sacred Twenty-Eight had probably still held some respectability and morality outside of their own circles, but not so much anymore. There was too much blood on their hands and Sirius doubted that-barring Voldemort’s absolute return-their reputations would ever survive the fallout. He could not really say that he was sorry to consider it.

“Y’know” Sirius rasped into the dirt even as copper flooded his tongue. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here, cousin.”

It was, in general, the wrong thing to say.

 _Wrong_ because Sirius was not, by social standards, part of the Black family anymore. He’d had his face burnt off the family tree and had been publicly disowned. Even before that, it was very clear that no one in the family had any warm feelings towards him due to his tendency to snub every elite social excursion and every pureblood marriage proposal sent his way. Not that he’d have wanted it, but there were times when his mouth got him into more trouble than he’d have liked it to. So he was surprised and he was not surprised when the Crutiatus was put on him and he spent the next few minutes in a blazing world of pain. He didn’t cry out-conditioning he had learned from Walburga-but it still hurt like blue fire, and there was no sense of victory from it. Sirius had lived too long to take any vindictive pleasure in careless phraseology. That, and right now he had too much to lose to spend his time gloating over something so stupid.

“The Dark Lord seems to think you have something of value” was the half sing-song, half growling resentment-inundated response.

Sirius really hated that she was spot-on.

He did have, in fact, _quite a lot_ of value to Voldemort and the idea voiced aloud by his awful cousin was not in the least bit comforting. His mind, of course, immediately veered to the fact that Snivellus must have betrayed him. The childish part of him still very much alive and well shrieked that he’d been a stupid, naive tosser for ever daring to even confide in the greasy-haired git, while the adult part of him that had suffered too much to be definitively concrete about anything insisted otherwise. Snape had gone out of his way to save him, twice. Surely there were consequences for a two-fold loss of a very conspicuously nosy individual sniffing around the robes of the most dangerous group of witches and wizards in the country. It was realistically possible that Severus had been tortured, and no matter what he thought about the nature of torture, everyone had a breaking point. He had given up on blaming people for their breaking points when he was in Azkaban. Imprisonment among Dementors had taught him that everyone, _everyone_ had a rock bottom...even people he didn’t necessarily think fondly of.

“I’m flattered,” Sirius croaked and then promptly cursed himself.

He was prepared for the pain this time, and so it wasn’t so much a surprise as much as it was just a mind-numbing, searing agony. Somewhat vaguely, he could acknowledge the Bellatrix was not going for gold in the torture department...which made sense. If Voldemort intended to crawl through his noggin she couldn’t afford to Longbottom him. The terminology of losing his mind via torture was absolutely horrendous, but he couldn’t think of anything better. It did occur to him, somewhat vaguely, that perhaps he ought to try to save the Longbottoms, but he wasn’t entirely sure he had the withwhereal to save himself at the current moment. In the midst of the pain, there was only the desire to be free of it, even if it meant death for himself. Sirius was _tired_ of pain, but he was also accustomed to it in ways that others were not. He was also accustomed to death, but that was neither here nor there. When the curse was lifted again, he spared himself the indignity of lying on the ground by hauling himself onto his forearms and knees until he was sitting in a very awkward kneeling position. Here, at least, his wand was not threatening his junk, even if the residual effects of the Cruciatus would last for several days. The tell-tale signs of aftershock were already fairly formulated; he would have cold sweats for a good few nights accompanied with vomiting, and then he’d sleep for about a week and be right as rain if he managed to survive.

It occurred to him that he ought to call off work.

“N’who exactly informed His Majesty that I have something to offer?”

His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he managed to get the words out regardless. They were thick and slightly slurred, but if he was still talking, he was still alive.

“That’s none of your concern.”

The desire to argue was knee-jerk and borne mostly out of a deeply ingrained sense of pride. Sirius didn’t, however, because he doubted he’d stay conscious through a third Cruciatus, and he needed what remained of his wits about him. Assessing himself wordlessly, he acknowledged that one of his ribs was cracked, perhaps broken. His right molar was loose, which explained why his mouth tasted like he’d been biting on a knut, but that was easily rectified with a healing spell. He was indeed in a forest, but it was impossible to say which one, or where. The trees were green, thick in nature and slightly gnarled but nothing that would point him towards any particular landmark. A smattering of moss-covered rocks and ferns completed the picture of a quaint woodland evening, even if the circumstances were far from quaint. Apparating, or attempting to apparate, he sensed would be foolhardy, there were surely wards in place, and he didn’t want to splice himself into the barrier by pure idiocy. His opponents, for now, counted three. He wouldn’t have been the least surprised if one of them was Rodolphous. Only Bellatrix had bothered to let down her hood, and he’d seen enough of her face to last him a lifetime.

“Funny” he muttered. “Yours was one of the last faces I saw before I died.”

Bellatrix looked appropriately confused and he resisted the urge to laugh. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of admitting it was likely her who had offed him...even if she wouldn’t remember it. It was strange to look into the face of his future murderer and feel absolutely nothing. Some of it, he supposed, was trauma...but being able to stare into the lifeless eyes of the woman who had diminished his vital worth to nothing but a curtain due to her own madness was a little bit freeing. He didn’t tell her so, but he squirreled the memory away for later use, when he could process it properly and understand his feelings regarding it. The make of the Death Eater robes were slightly different from what he remembered...less smoke and mirrors and more heavily solid. He supposed with his resurrection, Voldemort must have been forced to be a bit more creative with attire, but he took some comfort in the fact that perhaps things were less polished than they’d been nearer to his death in the alternative timeline.

It didn’t, of course, make his circumstances any better.

There were another series of faint pops indicating the ingress of more Death Eaters but he didn’t look to see who it was, or who he might be able to speculate it would be. Instead, he concentrated on the gradually de-accelerating rhythm of his heartbeat and let his mind churn for him. There was, of course, always the possibility of Regulus turning him in, but Regulus didn’t know anything...not unless Snape had told him and he seriously doubted Snivellus trusted anyone save for himself. That and the fact that to Severus, Regulus was still a student...in his eyes a child and therefore not worthy-or, perhaps, if he was feeling generous, not _ready_ -in terms of receiving information that would be incriminating. That, realistically, only left Severus to blame...and _blame_ was a shaky terminology.

This was clearly a gathering.

The nature of the gathering was unclear, but as more members began to Apparate in, Sirius’ chances of escape became less and less likely. He could take three in good shape, but he was _not_ in good shape, and now there were over a dozen Death Eaters milling about, giving him what he could only suppose were sneers from under their hoods. Someone hauled him to his feet-he couldn’t see who it was-and his legs nearly gave out from under him. It was sheer will that kept him upright and the act of standing felt _wrong_. His body was exhausted and his mind was no better. The fact that no one had moved to check him for his wand was telling. It meant they knew he was outnumbered, and they knew _he_ knew he was outnumbered, _and_ they knew that he was strategic enough not to do anything inanely stupid. It was alarming and humiliating all at once, but he was self-preserving enough not to get so tossed off he simply offed himself. With a cold feeling in his chest, Sirius hung his head as he realized he might just have to do that in order to keep the Dark Lord from having the advantage. He didn’t know _how_ he would do it. This wasn’t like in Muggle movies where the hero had a ready and waiting cyanide pill to swallow if he became compromised. If Sirius thought there was no way he was getting out of this, he would have to resort to messy, painful methods in order to take himself out of the equation.

“Well well, look who it is.”

Lucius had always had a distinctive voice.

The way slime was distinctive, in any case. Keeping his glare trained on the ground, Sirius gritted his teeth even as the slimy git circled him not once, not twice, but thrice. When he was done with his circumferential gloating, Lucius paused directly in front him.

“I confess” was the snide comment. “I was never very impressed with you, Black. You never seem to live up to anyone’s expectations.”

Sirius bit down on a sharp retort even as he simultaneously bit down on a bitter laugh. Because the words were _true_ even if he hated hearing them.

“Such a mouth on you as well” Lucius hummed, resuming his sweeping, gloaty pace. “Seems you’ve lost it...such a shame. I’d have enjoyed putting you in your place. It appears someone has beat me to it.”

He didn’t know this Lucius.

Realistically, he hadn’t known the future Lucius all that well either, but his mannerisms, his holier-than-thou bearance had always grated on him, like steel wool on flesh. And he _wanted_ to say something. Really, he’d have liked to just have spit in his face and been done with it, but the cost was too high and his adversaries too many...the consequences too dire. Sirius had spent his entire life defending himself and doing a very poor job of defending others. Right now, he could do neither.

It was probably good that he didn’t, because Voldemort chose that time to show up.

The change in atmosphere when his presence was made apparent was significant. There was an immediate cease of milling about; the Death Eaters took what he assumed were rough respective places even as the boil of shadow that was the current budding Dark Lord took shape in the forest. It was near to dark now...the sun a burning, hazed fringe across the trees...and with the ingress of night came the ingress of terrible madness, of cruelty and of merciless judgement. Sirius did not keep his head bent for this...mostly because he needed to observe, but also because he refused to show fear in front of someone who had instilled so much terror in so many and _barely_ suffered anything-as far as he was concerned-as a result. Those melted...slurried features as they formed sent a knife-sharp, lancing anxiety through his chest, but he ignored it in favor of keeping face.

He couldn’t see Snape anywhere.

That wasn’t saying much, everyone was masked, but there was a distinct gap in the front lines. He didn’t know if Regulus was there, but it hardly mattered. Regulus was in no position to act on his behalf. As the last bit of light from the day faded out, a plethora of luminescent green lights sprung forth in a circle around the gathering. The light itself formed a dome shape...open at the top, and he could only assume that it was something that was applicable with whatever shield was about the place. Sirius had always taken Voldemort as the sitting type, but he demanded no place to rest. Instead, he stood before the lot of them…tall...imposing, with those red-slit eyes and indeterminably long fingers tracing a wand that Sirius knew would mirror Harry’s when he was born.

 _If_ he was born.

“My faithful followers….”

The voice wasn’t any different, that was for certain. Smooth, accompanied with the faintest of hissing noises. From his vantage point, Sirius couldn’t see Nagini, but he could only assume that she didn’t follow him wherever he went. He tuned out the introduction, it was mostly posturing on the Death Eaters’ part. Sirius read the papers, he knew what the reports would say, and it was clear that while the followers would give themselves credit, they would not name themselves in order to receive further recognition. Ranks were adjusted in consideration of degree of accomplishment, he did make note of that, but not much else. There was some riling when it came to the ‘threat’ that Muggles and wizards of ‘impure lineage’ posed. Propaganda, every war movement, for ill or good, had some manner of dispersing it and Voldemort was masterful at it. If Sirius didn’t know what he was capable of, he might have thought him reasonable, and he could see why so many people fell so willingly under his sway. He said the right things at the right times...let the crowd draw assumptions from gravid silences, and gestured articulately, argued passionately. If he hadn’t been so bloody full of evil, as James might say, he’d have been admirable.

“My Lord, there’s some concern that the Ministry will catch on to our positions.”

Lucius, of course, was possible to pick out among the crowd, but that didn’t mean going to the Ministry about him would be any use. There were too many elite members of government in the Malfoys’ pockets for him to go pointing fingers if he managed to escape.

“I trust you know what to say to quell those concerns, Lucius” Voldemort answered simply, fingers tracing his wand. “I would not have placed you in your current position, and I would not have placed _others_ in their current positions if I did not consider you capable.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Scarlet eyes focused on Sirius.

“Ah” was the lackadaisical comment even as bald-n’-scary fussed with his sleeves. “I’d almost forgotten. You managed it, then, Bella...I confess, I wasn’t expecting you to so soon.”

“My Lord” Bellatrix simpered. “Truly, it was a task of the highest hon-”

“-Yes, yes” flat nostrils flared with barely-perceptible impatience. “Since Severus’...monstrous betrayal, I’ve been _itching_ to get my hands on you, Black.”

Well, that was interesting.

Even as he was shunted forward amongst the ranks, pushed out into the open beyond the semi-circle of Death Eaters and left to stumble, Sirius mulled over the fact that Snivellus had defected. Defected...but for _what purpose?_ And _when?_

“You seem surprised” Voldemort remarked, pacing before him even as Sirius struggled to remain upright. There was a flood of chuckles from behind and he gritted his teeth. “Lucky that your...friend managed to worm himself away before I could get a good grasp on his memories.” A smile that was not a smile...more like a hungry spread of chompers. “Not so lucky, of course, that I caught a glimpse of _you_ before he could do so.”

“He’s not my friend” Sirius spat. “Can’t stand that git.”

“Oh” Voldemort simpered. “Forgive me, I was being too literal. Let me rephrase; lucky your _accomplice_ managed to worm himself away before I could get a good grasp on his memories.” He was close now...lessening the gap between them, and the sense of panic that came with his ingress left Sirius reeling. The hands that grasped his chin and forced him to look upwards were colder than ice...steady, unyielding. Unearthly tall, Voldemort was maybe of equal height to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore didn’t carry himself with such heavy imposition. Sirius was not a short fellow, but before him, he felt dwarfed, miniscule even as he trembled with pent up rage and hatred. When he was level with those crimson eyes, he sneered only to receive a toothy chuckle in response. “What does not need to be rephrased” Voldemort said slowly. “Is the fact that you are still _unlucky._ ”

He panicked.

It was hardly a defensible notion, but he panicked and went for his wand even as he threw himself away. In retrospect, he was likely allowed the illusion of some freedom, because by the time he’d drawn on the Dark Lord he was halfway across the clearing and there was raucous laughter at his back. Sirius drew and light burst behind his eyelids even as the curse that flew out of the tip of his wand went wide. There were several shouts, several exclamations of pain and he supposed that in a different situation he’d have felt triumphant but he just felt absolutely _screwed_. He didn’t know the spell that was used on him...it was foreign, but it was _pressure_ in his skull, like his eyes were going to just roll out of their sockets and by the time it receded Voldemort was already up in his circle of proximity, there were hands grasping his jaw with such force he could hear it pop, and the sensation of a knife-sharp, unforgiving downward plunge into his psyche was the _only_ indication he had that his mind was being invaded.

He threw up walls.

It was the only thing Sirius knew _how_ to do at that point, careening into a black hysteria that seemed to shiver straight down into his bones. He threw them up like he had when he was young, when Walburga had cornered him in some dusty, green and black velvet parlor and tried to rip his brain to shreds. Vaguely, he was aware of himself gripping cold wrists, of his hands ripping at the appendages attached to him in order to get away, but his primary focus was to shield. He was ill-prepared, and his first line of defense went down like so much dust. Sirius choked as the outer perimeter of his psyche was shattered but felt his resolve strengthen when Voldemort hit the second wall and came out unsuccessful on the first try. He wouldn’t hold forever, but he could at least try and keep him out until he could physically get loose. Memories trickled through regardless...memories from when he was young and terrified, and he could practically _feel_ Voldemort trying to figure out a way to turn them against him...but he was _not going to have it._ Through the pain, through the agony of invasion was the sole notion that he had not come this far only to fail. He would _never ever_ play victim to his own indefensible nature again, and he would never make excuses for his own failed mentality again.

Sirius would prevail, or he would _die trying_.

The walls of his second barrier went down a few minutes after that. He had more...but he had no intention of letting Voldemort get so far without turning the tables. And it wasn’t easy...far from it. If he could compare it to anything, it was like trying to push his way through waves dashing against high cliffs...submerged in an unrelenting, unforgiving Northern tide that filled his mouth with salt and his belly with the ever-deepening, ever briny cold of ocean silt and sand. He would suffer the true consequences of it later...later...when everything wasn’t at risk, when he wasn’t seconds away from being crushed to mental pieces. And the _Legilimens_ he sent back wasn’t meant to delve anywhere meaningful, he’d only meant it as a countermeasure...a way to throw Voldemort off guard and get beyond the barrier, but he got more than he could have hoped for. Later, he would never ever know why the stupid, tall, pale arsehole had left his own shields down while trying to smash his to weenie bits...presumably he’d underestimated him, he couldn’t very well say. Sirius only knew he got a glimpse of that bloody cave again...of something _in_ the cave...in rushing, jerky snatches...of… _the dead_.... ** _the dead in the cave_**. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds.

Horror and triumph filled him simultaneously.

It was also enough to break Voldemort’s focus, enough for Sirius to yank himself away with an almighty, heaving gasp and essentially try to _crawl_ his way to vindication...even if he wouldn’t get far. There was a stunning spell sent over his shoulder and he sent several back...conjured up the nastiest, most unforgiving curses he could possibly think of in order to further his retreat, and the howl of a single, though unrecognizable voice-certainly not Voldemort’s-rising to the heavens in agony brought him a sort of grim satisfaction...but not for long. Not long because that searing, explosive pressure came back, the light behind his eyes came rampaging its way back in and he dropped like a rock. Sirius was fairly sure he made a pathetic, entirely resigned noise as he did so, because he could _not_ do this again. There were shouts about the perimeter, but he couldn’t see who or what it was...only that someone dragged him up and he couldn’t tell whether they were friend or foe. He fought because it was obligatory, but his movements were weakened, and he couldn’t see for the life of him. Maybe it was a blessing he couldn’t see who it was...he didn’t like the idea of seeing his possible jailer.

When he lost consciousness again it was with the wry reflection that he seemed to pass out a lot...and when he woke again it was to find himself in Spinner’s End with a _livid_ Severus Snape bent over him muttering a spell he couldn’t recognize...poisoning or healing him...he really couldn’t have said.

“Finsh’ng wha’ they started Sniv’lus?” Sirius slurred.

“I’m saving your sorry soul again” was the mild but tight reply. “And once again at great expense to myself.”

Sirius laughed and it sounded very drunken and loud and stupid.

“Well then, looks like you’re pretty thick, eh?”

He knew it was bad.

Sirius knew the damage done to him was bad because Severus didn’t even look the slightest bit miffed at his statement. His lips thinned, but his reaction was next to nothing.

“Am I goin’t kick it?” he wheezed.

“I think the world could count itself a better place if you did” was the snappish retort. “But not if I can do anything about it, so do be quiet.”

Somewhere, beyond the barrier Voldemort had failed to break...James was laughing. He was laughing, and they were on the Quidditch pitch and Sirius felt like his laugh could take him straight up to the sun...no matter how barmy it sounded. He supposed, in retrospect, it was his determination to save James, even if it was just a memory of him, that had driven him so ruthlessly. Protecting James had saved him, if only for a little bit.

The world went very, very dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Sorry, 'tonight' turned into 'very painfully early tomorrow.' Happy Monday sorta.  
> Am-so-bad-for-the-cliffys, but _Sirius_ , I blame Sirius. My dude is always in dire straights. [Edit: sorry, thar should be _'straits'_ ].  
> In all seriousness, thank you for reading, truly.
> 
> some minor edits applied to grammar/structure


	24. Our Cards, Though Different Colors, Are Somehow Same [Though not in house nor name]

Saying that Severus Snape made a good caregiver was giving him too much credit.

It was, rather, like saying garden gnomes were adorable, cuddly fellows with soft hearts and not an ounce of angst in their tiny bodies. Sirius was fairly positive if he had told Snape of his lack of nursley-ness he wouldn’t care a whit and would possibly take sincere pleasure in the knowledge of his _dis_ pleasure, so he didn’t say anything. Not that for the first few days he was capable of saying anything much at all, but it was the thought that counted, or so he told himself. It was easier than focusing on how badly off he was. A goodly bit of his state of disrepair had much to do with whatever spell Voldemort had used to subdue him, twice. Snape seemed reluctant to narrow it down and define it, if he had any idea of what exactly it was at all. There were no outward physical manifestations of the spell in particular, but the would-be-in-another-time’s Potions’ Master had stated, more than once, that Sirius was lucky to retain psychological capacity for individuality and reason.

The idea of being mentally compromised didn’t disturb him as much as it likely should have.

This could, of course, have been a facet of his eternal and rampant positivism, but he was more prone to think of it as resignation when it came to what the universe wanted to pitch at him. As it was, he spent his first two days in residence at Spinner’s End so ill he could hardly move, and then he spent the next three days sorting through his memories of the event while he swallowed every bloody awful potion shoved in his face. Some of them didn’t do shite, some of them seemed to make things worse, and some of them-particularly the last batch-made him feel marginally better, and then significantly better. He never saw what Snivellus put in them-which was likely a blessing-his shop was not-unlike Lily’s in the sense that it was below the rest of the house, in what is otherwise commonly known as the cellar. Snape spent a lot of time in the cellar, really, though Sirius wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he had things to do or if he just couldn’t stand the sight of one of his arch-nemeses in his living room. Regardless, the arrangement worked as well as it could have; they didn’t talk to one another unless absolutely necessary, and didn’t see each other unless it was for meals.

Despite his pasty appearance, Severus ran a tight ship.

Sirius had always considered himself a bit of a slob. Not in the sense that he didn’t dust here and there every so often, but if his mentality was poor he tended to let things like laundry and dishes pile up until he was having guests or he managed to figure himself out. That and he’d been hounded so much as a youth regarding degrees of perfection some aspect of him rebelled against it automatically, like it was an insult to his character and an acquiescence to past judgements of his inadequacy to have a spick and span flat. Severus utilized cleaning charms daily, more than once, and-also _more than once_ -used spontaneous cleaning charms on his ‘patient’, like somehow Sirius was smellying up the place just by existing in the god-awful armchair he had existed in last time he was at Snape’s ‘benevolent’ mercy. Snape cleaned mechanically, like it was something he was programmed to do and naught could stop him. The entirety of the place was dingy, darkly-curtained and heavily swathed in shadow, but the shadows were so clean if they were not ephemeral Sirius was certain they would squeak like church mice.

It occurred to him that it was likely just as much Severus’ past that made him neurotically tidy as it was his past that made him neurotically sporadically piggish. He didn’t like the comparisons-even if they were oppositions of one another-but they were still there and he couldn’t really get out of the chair and so he was forced to think on them. Otherwise, Severus was not half-bad at cooking either, and he didn’t like it when his brain drifted to his memories of what Harry had been good at, but it did. It was difficult to acknowledge the fact that if Harry hadn’t had a prophecy on his shoulders and national fame after his parents died, he could very well have ended up like Snivellus; perpetually bitter, or perhaps accumulating bitterness as time wore on. His godson and his reluctant accomplice shared a disturbing amount of parallels when it came to the way they were raised.

There was an air of tension between them.

Not in the sense of anything exhilarating, or related to past transgressions, but in the sense that they would eventually have to discuss things. Sirius was especially curious about Severus’ defection, but he didn’t want to pry. Moreover, he sensed that asking for information before it was offered would not only be unwelcome, but perceived as ungraciousness. Sirius wasn’t _grateful_ but he was glad to be alive and he wanted to keep it that way. He’d learned, at the very least, that there was some small part of Snape that operated on a strict code of honor; on social etiquette most folks didn’t really care to think about until they were older. He supposed that this, too, was ingrained from a less-than-savory childhood, but he again didn’t push the subject. He was too ill, really, to push for anything, and so he drank the awful potions and ate whatever food-which was, admittedly, not exactly terrible-placed in front of him and got a little further in terms of mobility and pain management by the day.

No one had come looking for him.

This was, with all things in mind, not entirely unexpected but it was still a bit jarring. Sirius had always had James to run along after him at Hogwarts, then he had the Dementors in Azkaban, and then he had Dumbledore telling him not to put a single toe out of line when he escaped. Sirius was used to solitude, but it was a solitude in the sense of being managed or oppressed. His time in school, of course, was an exception, but he was never alone at school. Somewhat vaguely, he wondered if Remus had had news of what transpired between James and Lily. He seriously doubted it. Not because Remus was never in anyone’s confidence, but because everyone tended to go with the fact that Remus really had enough on his plate to begin with and he didn’t need to worry about anything else. Emma and Lily were close, however, so there was a good chance that Peter might know through her. He didn’t know how _much_ Lily would tell her, but it wasn’t the sort of thing one kept secret for long. The engagement announcements would have to be recanted, there was no avoiding that. He was sensible enough to take Lily at her word when she said she wouldn’t take James back.

He didn’t garner any sort of selfish hope from the statement.

Despite James’ chronic ability to be indecisive, he knew it would still hurt him, and that he would need time to grieve. If not for what they had been recently, for what could have been. James and Lily would now be parenting a child that wasn’t even born yet separately. This was problematic in terms of the timeline because he-again-did not know if the child would be Harry. And, really, it might be Harry but it would be a different Harry no matter what because it would be a Harry that would-if everything went well-have both his parents in his life. Sirius had resigned himself to the fact that the timeline was going to change in ways that he didn’t anticipate, and even though this particular change was a bit catastrophic, it wasn’t something he could entirely control...not if he wanted to change things. In adhering to the prior timeline, Sirius was hobbling himself in the sense that he had not recognized that in order to mitigate change he had to allow change to happen.

Just because he had an image of what he knew Harry would become in his head didn’t mean that that _had_ to be Harry’s future.

Even with the separation in mind, James and Lily were still good people, and they still would be good parents. There was no part of him that believed that Lily would prevent James from being a facet in the life of their child and vice versa. Both were capable of monumental pettiness, but a child was different...something apart, something sacred only to the two people who had created it. He would, of course, chop off all his limbs before he allowed Walburga within a mile of his own child, Godric forbid he ever was unfortunate enough to saddle such a child with himself, but the Potters and the Evanses were good people, of positive repute. Even with no legal status between their families, they were still capable of getting along, and he knew too many families who consistently railed against separated couples in regards to inconsistency of closeness to better their own ends.

He could take some small comfort in this, though it was little.

The more pressing matter inundating his psyche was that of the cave, because now he had solid confirmation that it was at least to some degree relevant. This meant he needed to get in contact with Regulus, but he dared not try the method he had went with before. Despite the fact that Voldemort hadn’t gotten into his memories, he had still managed to get _away_ , and with the aid of none other than a recently defected member of Voldemort’s very own. No matter who he was, where he came from, that was enough to make him a prime target, and it was _also_ enough to put everyone associated with him in grave danger. The first time Sirius realized that, he’d fallen out of the armchair in his haste to try and leave and Snape had snarled at him for an hour in regards to his asinine stupidity. He’d then spent a better part of two hours inundated with existential despair because _surely_ it was too late. Surely Voldemort had already moved against those he loved. His rational brain knew that such assumptions were somewhat unfounded; the Potters weren’t exactly as high profile as the Malfoys, but they were still an old family with good social standing. It wasn’t as simple as taking them out, it would have to look like an accident, especially since it was only early days when it came to Voldemort’s regime. Remus was in the wind and Peter had the advantage of being known as the underdog of their group. What little information he could offer would be veritably useless. Voldemort would need time to plan, and Sirius did not intend to give him that time...not any more than was absolutely necessary in any case.

The creak of the cellar door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and Sirius observed as Snivellus stalked out of the darkened space like a great, shadowed bat and strode over to his chair. Without ceremony, he waved his wand in a complicated gesture that Sirius had come to understand was some form of checkup. The sensation of it reminded him a bit of the hot air charm they had learned at school.

“Reckon I won’t kick it anytime soon, Snivellus?” Sirius drawled.

Snape ignored him in favor of continuing the examination until stepping back.

“Unfortunately” he said snidely.

Severus’ arm was heavily bandaged.

Specifically, the arm that he knew would sport the Dark Mark. He’d made note of it the second day he’d arrived, and some part of him flinched away from the concept of someone being desperate enough to cut the entirety of a dark curse from blood and flesh. If his knowledge in regards to curses was anything close to rudimentary, the wound wouldn’t heal properly unless given advanced medical attention, from a Mediwitch or wizard...and of course Severus couldn’t set foot in St. Mungo’s. Regardless, he understood the necessity of it...because unless it was removed Snape would never be free. There was a part of him that gave a grim nod to the man who would choose gut-wrenching pain over eternal servitude.

“You should tell your little sycophant to mind his business” Snivellus remarked, circling round and observing as Sirius got out of the chair on shaky legs and began to do laps around the living room. “He’s so dimwitted he’s going to get himself killed.” Somewhat confused, Sirius shot Snape a dry look, and he received a scoff in response. “What, Black, did you _forget_ that you sent Pettigrew down to the archives to look at old records regarding the Dark Lord’s past?” When the man in question stopped entirely, his heart dropping into his stomach, an inglorious sneer spread across a sallow face. “Honestly, the way you treat your comrades is more abysmal than how the Dark Lord treats his followers. He’s too obvious, Black, I’ve had to assuage Lucius more than once, pull him out before he loses all he holds dear and his own life to boot.”

“I didn’t have anything else to go on” Sirius protested, leaning heavily on a side table before pushing himself off it to begin again. “And Dumbledore said to wait, I couldn’t just-”

“-Oh, you couldn’t just _wait_ for the only person the Dark Lord has ever feared to do his piece?” A depreciating laugh. “You utter imbecile, if Dumbledore tells you to wait, then you _wait_.”

“Dumbledore says a lot of shite” Sirius shot back. “And I get that he’s got the greater good in mind, but sometimes the cost is too bloody high, and you _know_ what I’m on about, you’ve seen it.”

“That’s no excuse for using your friends as pawns in a war that you barely know anything of” was the tight response. “Not at this stage, and I say that from what I’ve gleaned from your memories. People aren’t weapons, Black, I’d say that that is something, _also_ from your memories, that you should have learned from Dumbledore’s actions as well. Actions have consequences, even if you don’t have enough brain cells to rub together in order to anticipate them.”

He couldn’t think of a good enough comeback, so he just glared until Snivellus gave him that look that suggested he was a lost cause and then swept over to a window.

“You won’t be able to go home” was the remark eventually. “I trust you know that.”

“You’re home, aren’t you?” Sirius shot back angrily, despite knowing he was right and hating it.

“I never made the mistake of leaving my home unguarded to the public” was the lazy return. “You were kidnapped from inside your home, from what I could discern from your initial ravings, yes? That means your home is compromised. I dearly hope you left nothing of value there...nothing that could make you of greater interest to the Dark Lord than you already are.”

He hadn’t.

Sirius could acknowledge that he was dim, but he wasn’t utterly stupid. He’d taken the time to dispose of Regulus’ book and the picture properly some time ago, and the only thing Death Eaters would find if they ransacked his flat was the fact that it was barely habitable.

“I didn't,” Sirius forced out through gritted teeth.

“That’s something” was the muttered remark. A pause, and he sensed that Snape was going to continue, so he didn’t interject. “I am an accomplished Legillimens” was the eventual statement. “But even I am not immune to the Dark Lord. He...was too near to the memories you foisted upon me in a meeting prior. I was forced to fabricate memories of being a spy in order to distract him.”

The irony of the statement did not escape Sirius one little bit.

“So you’re out on a limb” he said flatly. “And a flakey one at that.”

“That’s just it,” Snape replied coldly. “I’m _out_ Black, after this. No more waiting in the eves to make sure you’ve not gotten your overtly large head in a ridiculous situation. No more servitude, no more deception, and no more lies.”

“You could do the opposition a world of good” Sirius blurted without really thinking about it.

Snape looked at him incredulously.

“What?” he jeered. “By being a spy? In case you haven’t noticed, that avenue of direction is burnt to ash. And from what I can tell, I was nothing but Dumbledore’s lapdog...his pet by obligation.”

“That’s not tru-”

“-Don’t _lie_ to me, Black” Snape hissed. “I know myself, even my future self, enough to comprehend that I would _never_ have taken the position Dumbledore offered me unless under severe duress, under despair and destitution.” A wild look came over the man before him. “I do not want to be the man I saw in your memories, Black. He looks a miserable, terribly lonely and unforgiving individual.” A directionless gesture. “And I’m not blind to my lack of quality at the present moment, but the man arguing with your future self across a table in your familial home is a _shell_ of what I am now. He is entirely empty save for the purpose put upon him and when my fa-” Severus appeared to cut himself off abruptly...took a step back and swallowed rapidly. “I swore” was the low continuation. “When I left Hogwarts that I would never be a slave to a man again, and I failed in doing that in your _wretched_ timeline not once, not twice, but _thrice_.” An inhale through flared nostrils, and when he spoke again, he was fair to spitting. “I would rather _die_ , I’d rather be _hanged_ -!”

Turning, Snape strode to the liquor cabinet and began to pour himself a glass with a shaky hand. At somewhat of a loss in regards to words, Sirius kept a steady amble about the living room whilst Snivellus tossed back his drink.

“What will you do?” he asked at length.

Swallowing through gritted teeth, Snape did not reply immediately. Instead, he replaced the bottle and glass and then leaned heavily on the stretch of lacquered wood beneath the cabinet.

“I’m leaving the country” was the eventual response. “Where is none of your concern...but I leave in the hopes of making a better life, and that is more than you need or deserve to know of me.” A pause. “You may make use of Spinner’s End, if you like, I’ll be glad to see the last of it. My wards should last a year or more, you will have to enlist Dumbledore to help you re-erect them.” When Sirius looked incredulous he sneered. “Just because you weren’t paying attention in class doesn’t mean nobody else was, you fool. There is _no one_ capable of replicating them other than him.”

“When do you leave?” Sirius asked numbly.

“Tonight” Severus replied stiffly. “You’re recovered as much as I can help you, you’ll need to take the potions for another three days, but after that you should suffer no more ill effects.” Meeting his gaze, something in Snape seemed to relent a bit. “I am not a hero, Black. And I will not become a hero, in however little or great a propensity, by first becoming a puppet. I hope you succeed in your endeavors, despite my great and powerful dislike of everything you are, I am not so foolish as to ignore the fact that your intentions are good, if often poorly executed.”

Later, Sirius would be able to acknowledge that it was the highest compliment from Snape he would ever be likely to receive.

As it was, however, he could only at the time panic in regards to the fact that this would only change the timeline _more_. When Severus disappeared into the night later that evening without a word or a backward glance, he realized that of all the individuals tied into the disastrous, incredibly bloody timeline prior, Snivellus was probably the only individual who was a little bit like Harry and little like Sirius. In a different time, in different circumstances, they might have been able to help one another, but not now. Now, he was stuck in an empty house in Spinner’s End...though the next day Themis found him, and he was able to get a letter out to Dumbledore and a brief warning out to Peter. It was a small consolation comparative to the fact that everything he held dear could crumble down around his ears at any moment...now, more than ever.

He didn’t know how pivotal the absence of Snape would be to everything...but he also didn’t know if...given the same circumstances, he wouldn’t have done the same. He’d spent months sequestered to Grimmauld place under Dumbledore’s bidding gnawing at the bit. And he _respected_ Dumbledore, but something in him had always whispered that maybe he ought to have a little bit of respect for himself too. That respect had come too late, and at a terrible time. Now, he could only take what lessons he’d learnt previously and apply them to the present. After Themis left with Dumbledore’s letter, he spent some time staring out the window where James had been seen prancing about the garden. Despite his dislike of Snivellus, the house seemed empty...echoing, and lifeless without him there. Snape carried his coldness, his pride and his fierce sense of justice with him like an aura.

If Sirius was more of a man, he might have been able to say he admired him.

But he was not more of a man, and he had too much to focus on otherwise. If he fell into the habit of choosing the exact same brand of whiskey Snivellus favored as a nightcap every evening, he told himself it was merely because it had a smashing kick.

Lying to oneself about the qualities in those spurned beyond repair is always easier than acknowledging the lack of quality in the self.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Am not saying we’ve seen the last of Snape here, but it’s unclear. This feels like the kindest thing he could do for himself, and I feel like Snape has suffered so much, and is intelligent enough to recognize that suffering didn’t make him a better person.


	25. Green benediction, long-schemes in a sieve, your salad's been tossed [and I want to live]

Sirius had never been spelunking.

The fact went somewhat without saying...it was, after all, a bit common sense-in his opinion anyway-to not go meandering about dark musty places. Some folks did it for a hobby but the appeal was rather lost on him. He was not entirely sure if what he was planning could even be classified as spelunking since it was not for the sake of hobby or leisure, but for the sake of uncovering the secrets of a Dark Wizard and possibly the sake of humanity. Saying that he was planning something _’for the sake of humanity’_ felt highly aggrandizing, however, and so he didn’t.

From what he could discern from his memories of the picture, the cave itself was in a remote location inaccessible to your average pedestrian Muggle. It was, somewhat interestingly, not far from London...and by proxy not far from the orphanage where Voldemort grew up. ‘Far’, granted, was relative. For a gaggle of orphans looking to spend the day by the sea it was a good few hours journey outside the city, but to a wizard it was naught but a hop, skip, and a jump away. It had taken him some time to find the beach adjacent-if _‘several hundred feet from the shore’_ could be classified as _‘adjacent’_ -but he had enough memory thanks to Voldemort to pinpoint a general locale, and that was all he really needed. A few days prior, he’d visited the location himself and fleshed out the mental picture he had of the entryway and the craggy rocks beyond in the forefront of his mind.

Living in Spinner’s End was not exactly _living_.

The house itself was well-kept, clean-of course-,with enough food and supplies he wasn’t going to go hungry any time soon but it wasn’t a party either. He heard from Peter very briefly, and he’d offered to come and check up on him but Sirius vehemently refused. There was no need for Wormtail to put himself at further risk, and Emma’s warning regarding her husband’s livelihood was still very much forefront in his mind. Instead, he spent his time perusing Snivellus’ library, which might as well have been torture in of itself. One might be prone to think that Snape would keep all manner of books in regards to the Dark Arts, but it appeared his arch-nemesis-second only to Voldemort-was rather hard up on the historical, philosophical, and political front. Sirius spent a solid hour trying to read through Nubbet Nivem’s Seventy Maxims of Wildly Wonderfully Waffling Wizarding Ethics before he gave himself the most horrid migraine he’d ever gotten in his life. It was stuffy, mothball-ridden, aged and dichotomous malarkey and he was happy to come to the definite conclusion that he would never touch a single book in Snivellus’ house again.

The Potions’ Lab was no more fascinating.

This, however, was somewhat what he’d expected. It was clear that Snape had taken all of his notes-there were shelves upon shelves of cubbyholes clearly meant to hold scrolls and the like-and most of his supplies with him. He did, as promised, leave what Sirius needed behind, but other than that space was just a stony, cold and circular chamber below the rest of the establishment. It was clear that this was possibly the one thing that Severus had bothered to dig out and design himself. Despite the former owner’s clearage of personal effects, there was still enough to cook with, though he was no dab hand at cooking on a good day. Lately, his days seemed to be filled with nothing but gloom, and his dinners were equally gloomy down to the last soggy scraps of spinach. Dumbledore had responded to him fairly quickly, but his news was less than satisfactory;

_Sirius,_

_I am glad to hear that you are alive and hale. James informed me of your disappearance, and we were all concerned for your welfare. I will not speak in this letter when it comes to the question of your whereabouts. I write merely to inform you that despite my best efforts, and many suspicions, confirmation of those suspicions will take time; I am loathe to act without any solid proof. Further discussion regarding such suspicions would be foolhardy to enclose. I will, therefore, encourage you to look more deeply into a picture you once had in your possession. I ask you not to act, but to look. However, I understand that in the asking of such a favor, action may become inevitable. This, I acknowledge, I cannot prevent...but I would urge you to act with caution._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus_

Sirius didn’t know how to feel about James telling Dumbledore anything.

Dumbledore’s involvement was often a double-edged sword because of the Headmaster’s inclination to act for the wellbeing of the whole and not for that of a single individual. Still, James only knew so much, and he had some faith that James would not disclose absolutely everything. As much as he admired him, he knew there was some part of his best mate that was cowardly when it came to admitting personal err...and losing Lily was a grave personal err that Dumbledore would likely not be sympathetic to. He’d spent the night examining his memories of the picture and comparing it to what was in his head from his ‘duel’-if it could even be called that-with Voldemort. He was confident enough, at this point, that he knew where it was, and had apparated there correctly, but he did not know its purpose.

Which, of course-his psyche reasoned-was all the more reason to go and explore it.

When he was well enough that he felt comfortable moving about the house without impediment, Sirius began to put his plan into motion. A peek, he argued with the very small rational facet of his being, was not going to hurt anyone. Even if it merely meant poking at the wards, of which he was sure there were some, it’d be worth the hike. Or, in his case, worth the _’Apparate’_. It seemed very unlikely that Voldemort would post guards to monitor such a place overlong, and with no one exactly sure where he was at the given moment, it was the perfect time to strike.

Sirius was not sure when his mindset moved from _’explore’_ to _’strike’._

When it came to supplies, he didn’t have much to go on. He wasn’t planning to spend a month out there, but he didn’t know what would happen once he ventured inside the cave, so packing mindfully seemed like the best way to manage things. Sirius had his wand, and he did consider it somewhat of a blessing that Snivellus had seen fit to leave him his wand...let alone retrieve it in the thick of battle at all. It would have been far, _far_ easier for the greasy-haired git to leave it where it lay while trying to squirrel him away, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t, and Sirius found said wand in the bottom of the liquor cabinet when he’d fished up a bottle of already half-empty Swott Malt. Having apparently rested behind the aforementioned container, it came rolling to the fore with a thin strip of parchment taped about the middle.

_”Do attempt to use this more wisely in the future, and for the love of all things good do not drink the nettle wine; it contains aconite leaves.”_

He’d laughed of course, and wondered if Snivellus had kept it to deal with especially unwelcome guests. When he was washed up enough that the ceiling was caving in, he spent two hours hysterically wondering if he ought to send James something sentimental to reassure him of his continued existence before deciding otherwise. The next day, he resumed his packing, and when he was done he had a very small rucksack full of things he might not ever need to use.

This took the better part of two weeks.

In truth, the sheer _amount_ of time it took to prepare and plan was liable to drive him bonkers by itself. What really nearly made him entirely crackers, however, was the isolation. Grimmauld place and Spinner’s end were different but the sense of overall isolation was not. More than ever, he regretted kissing James...because kissing James felt like it was what had led up to this moment. Somehow, inexorably, he had gotten himself into a situation where he was immobile and useless; _again_.

Maybe that was why he decided that before he left, he was going to weed the garden.

Sirius wasn’t, realistically, entirely sure what had possessed him save for, perhaps, extreme boredom. And _whatever_ was growing there was so ugly it was bloody atrocious. He was fairly sure that-as said before-it was Devil’s Snare. But it was darker than your common plant from the Hogwarts greenhouses and so smelly when one walked outside he had to assume there was some type of ward put about the house to keep the stench out. Snivellus, he’d decided while performing a bubble head charm on himself, would never have to worry about door to door salesmen...because they would assume the house was owned by some type of creature grown from a rubbish heap. He was possessed by the mad urge to redecorate and paint the entire house; if he had to live there for a while, he might as well do with it what he pleased.

His mistake in gardening was made apparent when he tried to dig up the first green, sticky root and it in turn tried to drag him _down_. It was rather incredible that a single plant could possess such power of force and vicious determination but it took both of Sirius’ hands and a yelped _’diffindo!’_ before he was capable of using his fingers again. By that time, several more of the ugly green buggers had risen up-presumably to avenge their fallen friend-and then he had to run. Specifically, he had to run straight up a low and overhanging part of the wall to the rear of the house and onto the roof. This was a very bad idea, because the roof was charmed and somewhat slippery. It was a bit like trying to get a grip on a semi-solid substance that just barely jumped out from under his reach every time he thought he had a hold of it; like a magnet that opposed _just enough_ to keep two surfaces from sliding together.

This left him slipping atop the roof for a good quarter of an hour, getting progressively angrier by the minute. Thankfully, the fact that he couldn’t grasp the shingles meant that the plants couldn’t either. They slid atop it-what little they could reach in their gargantuan, leafy states-and then circled around until they could have another go at him. It only ended when-at the end of his rope-he roared a completely irate _’confringo’_ at each growth in turn, whipping his wand about in a manner not a little mad. When he was finished, he was able to slide to a stop...just-barely hovering over the surface of the roof. Someone cleared their throat below and he was immediately on red-alert again, but when they spoke and their voice became apparent, he nearly dropped his wand.

“Fancy making salad like that” Regulus called up to him. When Sirius continued to stand and pant in a kind of stupefied indignation, he continued. “I’d never have thought of it.”

Part of the ‘detonated’ Devil’s Snare fell from his hair to drip down his nose, and Regulus smirked before cocking his head. Eyes similar to his own watched as he rather slimily made his way down from the roof in order to squelch over to him. It took Sirius a while, but eventually he was able to accept that yes, Regulus was there. And yes, he didn’t look pissed at the very sight of him.

“Can’t help it if you’ve never thought of it” he replied somewhat heavily, still winded. “Mum always said I was the brilliant one.”

Regulus scoffed.

“Delusions” he remarked dryly. “I shouldn’t have expected less.” They eyed one another for a few minutes more before Regulus relented. “Don’t let me keep you from cleaning up. I’ve a reason to be here, but I won’t talk to you when you look like you’ve been shagging an oversized flobberworm.”

Sirius grinned viciously.

“Think of that often eh?”

Regulus did not deign to respond to this; preferring only to spell open the door to Snivellus’ house with his wand and sail inside. Having nothing to do but clean off, Sirius retreated to the bath to do just that. It let him settle his racing thoughts in any case; which were of two minds. One of those minds insisted he should have gone when he planned to, and the other insisted that perhaps it was lucky he’d decided to garden...because otherwise he’d have missed Regulus. By the time he was clean, dresssed, and ready for conversation, it was clear that Regulus had already made himself comfortable by raiding the liquor cabinet. He was sprawled across a chair drinking Odgen’s and looking out at the yard.

“Good trick there you pulled” was the bitter remark. “At the Meeting” his brother continued when Sirius did not respond. Choosing to pour himself a glass, the older wizard merely listened. “Could have gotten me killed you know.”

“I didn’t ask to be kidnapped,” Sirius snapped.

“No” was the miserable reply. “But you just _had_ to drag Severus into the well of righteousness, didn’t you?” Sirius took a long drink in an attempt to hide his confusion, but Regulus caught onto it instantly. “What” he snorted as he sat down next to him. “You didn’t think that anyone would notice that Severus wasn’t...invested like he usually was? That he wasn’t _avoiding_ most of us unless absolutely necessary?”

“I did what I had to,” Sirius finally said, deciding that arguing otherwise was pointless.

“You played God” his brother continued bitterly, emptying his drink and pouring another. “And you’re still doing it, but it won’t _work_. This isn’t Hogwarts, this is the real world-”

“ _-Don’t_ lecture me on the difference between childhood and the real world” Sirius hissed. Something in his tone brought Regulus up short, because he stared at him-albeit a bit blearily at that point-before draining his glass again and going for another. “So you just came here to have a go at me and get smashed out of your skull is it?”

“The Dark Lord knows about James,” Regulus finally said tightly. When Sirius froze, he shook his head. “He knows how you feel about him, Sirius. You’re not the only person who got information from your duel...you're just lucky he crashed straight into your ridiculously large and mushy heart and not your miniscule rational brain.”

Sirius couldn’t sit anymore.

Not with the knowledge he had in his possession. Instead, he paced...and he fretted, even if he knew that fretting was for nothing. So James was a love interest and Voldemort knew, what could he do? As far as he was aware, James wasn’t in the country anymore; he was in Scotland and probably better for it. The Potters had some of the most creatively intricate wards he’d ever laid eyes on. Coupled with neighbors and friends from a very _very_ old wizarding community, the Potters were practically untouchable save for Hogwarts being _more_ untouchable. His eyes slid to the window...where he knew that over a little hill and down a slope was Lily’s parents home. She was likely there now...but he hadn’t bothered to check because he didn’t feel like he had the right. There was a high chance Snape had extended separate wards over the Evans’ house merely because he and Lily had been childhood friends.

_”I have a mission”_ Sirius thought fiercely. _”I can’t get distracted.”_

“Figures you’d go from playing in girls’ skirts to being absolutely bent” Regulus said bitterly. “Girls can do that, you know, blokes can’t.”

At this, Sirius barked out a laugh that was as incredulous as it was scornful.

“So essentially, birds who are flexible, and blokes who’re ramrod straight or absolutely bent?” Sirius snorted. “To the first half, certainly. To the last half, piss on it.”

Grimacing and deciding he’d had enough, Sirius leaned forward and snatched the Odgen’s from his brother’s hands. Said individual protested weakly, but he ignored it. Rising, he stretched before moving to the liquor cabinet to put it on a shelf. Pausing a moment, he fussed somewhat halfheartedly over Snape’s old radio before he whacked it atop the hood in a somewhat depreciating matter. Both brothers winced as Belting Bartholomew and the Belled Blast-Ended Screwts began to reverberate from the speakers. Sirius dithered for a moment before giving it up as a lost cause; abandoning it in order to sit in front of Regulus again.

“If you want to live in the present” he began dryly. “You’ve got to get your head out of your arse and get your arse out of the past.” When Regulus looked sour he rolled his eyes and leaned forward again to clasp a much broader and thicker shoulder. “And you can start doing that shite by not assuming I’m _’completely bent’_. And if I _was_ you could at least treat it like it’s not the bloody apocalypse.” Taking a swig of the remainder of his own drink he raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to be your social sacrificial lamb because I don’t adhere to whatever bollocks you think is a norm. So wake up or eff off.”

“Tell that to Mum” Regulus snorted, shaking off his hand, slumping back in his seat, and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Mum and I could never breathe another word to one another and I’d die fairly content” Sirius retorted, allowing a thin thread of warning to seep into his tone. “Reg” he said tightly. “I don’t care about what happens to them.”

“Well you _should_ ” Regulus retorted angrily, even if he was red-faced and rather drunk. “They’re the only family I’ve-we’ve-” he broke off, seeming to realize the err of what he was saying. “Sirius,” he said desperately. “You need to understand-that I’ve not _got_ very much.” A thick swallow. “And I _know_ , I very well know that when we do this, eventually, I’ll have to leave it to rot. But it’s hard.”

Sirius relented because as much as he wanted to tell himself otherwise, Regulus was not entirely to blame.

“I left you,” he said quietly. “It’s as simple as that, innit? I didn’t give you a choice, our folks didn’t give you a choice.” When a dark head of hair was hung before him he floundered a bit. “Reg,” he finally said uncertainly. “What do _you_ want?”

It was hard to remember that there was once a time when they’d been closer. Sirius had vague memories of trying to help the man before him ride an enchanted bike down the halls until Walburga screamed at them. He remembered stealing mince pies from the kitchen at Christmas so they could eat them under Sirius’ bed. So, too, did he remember Regulus’ worried and frantic eyes when he’d first set foot on the Hogwarts Express...he remembered coming back hating everything his family stood for and shunting him off to the side. He remembered how desperately Regulus had pulled at him before abruptly pulling away...like a sad...smaller ghost of what he was becoming. And if the whiskey on his tongue was sour, sourer still was the knowledge that he probably couldn’t have changed it...because it would have meant leaving James.

“Sirius.”

Regulus’ voice drew him back to the present...mostly because it was flat, but also underlined with an impression of quiet desperation. It was only when Sirius would look at him that he continued...and the resolve in his eyes was fierce.

“I want to help” he said quietly.

_”I want to live.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I'm sorry for being gone so long and I'm sorry I'm coming back with a chapter that's just...talking again. I feel like I addressed why I was gone in the comments of the last chapter for the most part. it's important for me to write this story without any influx of what I'm personally emotionally dealing with and sometimes I find that very difficult to do. I couldn't do that with this fic. And I couldn't do that to you, the readers. you deserve better than that. so my absence is not an intentional negligence of this, but a nod to the respect I hold for it and you [the audience]. 
> 
> I can't guarantee a regular schedule. But I can guarantee you I'm trying. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	26. Blood, Knives, and Salt, Crystals and Brothers [He's the reason I died...but I'm sure there are others]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm deeply unhappy with the tone in this chapter but if I don't post it I will delete it again and I've been working on it for two weeks.

_“Bloody salt crystals.”_

James had done his tie up all wrong again. He’d done it sideways, and somewhat backwards. Nobody but Sirius would’ve noticed, of course. It was one of those distinctly _James_ looks; the ones that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to go into chemistry half dressed. But it wasn’t chemistry, it was Potions. Potions, and Slughorn was weaving about the classroom like he always was like a somewhat simpering, enormous, sweaty shadow. Looking back on the memory at the present moment., Sirius couldn’t remember what they were working on exactly; the nature of the assignment collectively was unclear. He just remembered that James couldn’t focus on anything but the ‘bloody salt crystals’, and _he_ couldn’t remember anything except that James' tie was undone...and perhaps the fact that he could see the hollow of his throat, just there, _unfairly there._

_“What have you got against salt crystals?_

James shot him a miserable look.

_“It’s not the crystals, it’s what we have to _do_ with them.”_

Sirius could not, for the life of him, remember what they were doing with the salt crystals that was supposed to be so awful. They were in fourth year, and everything about Hogwarts was still somewhat new and exciting and it was hard for him to focus on the negatives. He never caught up with Potions, at the very least he never did very well, maybe because Prongs was complaining all the time, but mostly because he just wasn’t interested. It was hard to focus with Snivellus in the same class, especially when they had to worry about him sabotaging their group projects simply for a petty victory. That and Slughorn was perpetually trying to recruit him for his rubbish, doddering club; he’d have rather had a long, wet snog with a kappa than join the effing Slug Club. He’d dropped the course as soon as he could, and he wasn’t exactly sorry for it.

_”Where d’you reckon they come from?”_

Long fingers poking at the opaque crystal next to their cauldron were calloused from clutching a broom. The crystal itself looked rough, but not so rough it would be abrasive on the skin. Muggles called it halite, that much he’d known from having an ear in Rosie Widgeworth’s gossip two seats down. In fifth year he’d taken Rosie to Madam Puddifoot’s and left her half an hour in because Jamie wanted to do Mrs. Norris in bows. He was fairly sure that particular fling didn’t last beyond that, understandably. Mrs. Norris, however, looked a right side more fetching in bows. Filch, of course, did not agree, but the detention was well worth the trouble.

_”I dunno, the sea?”_

James had looked at him like he was half nutters, but the only thing he could think about was how someone ought to straighten his tie. When his best mate proceeded to lick the crystal, slowly and contemplatively, all the way up to the end he had to think about crossing his legs so he didn’t look like he was pitching a tent.

_“Fawkes’ faffing fire-juggling flames of fury”_ he coughed. _“What in Merlin’s meandering magical mouse-trapping measuring spoons are you **doing**!?”_

Halfway to giving the crystal another unfairly-erotic washing, James paused and managed to look twice as stupid as he usually did; eyeballing him sideways with his yob hanging open. When he shut it, it was only to lick his lips and raise a hairy brow at him.

_“You think of all that yourself?”_ Sirius made a noise, he was fairly sure it was strangled and tortured. _”Doesn’t taste very salty”_ James mused and he resisted the urge to kick him in the shins.

_”It’s an effing rock”_ he’d spat, squirming around the problem in his pants until he felt like he was about to go blue. _”Don’t lick anymore rocks, **please**.”_

_”Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist...”_

* * *

“Bloody salt crystals” Sirius muttered to no one in particular in the present moment.

His voice echoed across the walls of what appeared to be an antechamber. Surrounding him was a multitude of the aforementioned, in great and small sizes. It was a bit like being inside a geode; save the rocks were not as hard and seemed suffused with an unearthly light that both contributed to the darkness and detracted from it. He couldn’t name an exact color for it, even if he gave it a great amount of thought. It was a greenish, blackish atmosphere that seemed to emanate a coldness that bit through his skin...pervaded into the marrow and froze so it lingered...chill and perpetual...in every facet of his physicality. Regulus was to his right, examining an expanse of wall with a determined sort of focus.

They weren’t alike at all.

Despite growing up with one another, they were entirely different individuals both in appearance and stature. Sirius was lithe and frivolous and Regulus was built slightly stockier and...well… _serious_. He wore his hair clipped short and severe; a stark contrast to his own..which was shaggy, overlong, and sometimes entirely neglected. His years in Azkaban had leached away a great amount of memories of his brother, but that much remained the same. He wasn’t entirely sure it had always been that way, but even his earliest memories involved some vague recollection of himself taking the brunt of their parents’ criticisms while Regulus remained a silent shadow...observing, never interfering. He’d never resented him his lack of defense; it was nearly impossible for him to defend himself against Walburga, and the consequences were far worse for Regulus.

It was a dead end.

The cave...that is, though Regulus seemed to think otherwise. After some stilted discussion at Spinner’s End, it turned out that whatever his younger brother was working on was somehow tangential with what Sirius was working on. Regulus wouldn’t say what it was, exactly, he expected to find in the cave. Whenever Sirius asked he clammed up and looked defensive and shifty...but more than that he looked _fearful_. The fear seemed to be more directed at Sirius for the sake of him and not a fear of him bungling things. This was enough to make him certain that whatever it was, it was dangerous, so when he proposed they explore the cave together it was a gesture of good faith.

Regulus hexed him sideways.

Really, he hexed him half way through a wall, and it was only through sheer luck-and admirably strong wards-that he didn’t come out the other side. The action was knee-jerk and explosive; it was clearly meant to drive him away. When Sirius had cleared his head enough that he felt safe standing up, Regulus was standing exactly where he’d been before, in the same spot, with a violently shaking hand pointing a wand straight at his chest.

_”Reg...I didn’t-”_

_-“ **Don’t** ”._

The hysteria in the younger wizard’s eyes was so great it was enough to make him shut it. If irises had mouths, they’d have been hollering at him, so Sirius had stayed quiet and still as Regulus fought with what was a clear desire to turn tail and run. It took a good ten minutes-by his estimation-for him to pull himself back from the rhetorical ledge, but when he did, it was to stalk away and throw himself into one of the awful armchairs. Sirius’ knee-jerk urge was to offer him a drink. He’d considered it as he stood in his brother’s wake and surveyed the damage behind him. Despite the fact that it was a conversation that might have gone more smoothly with some lubrication, it was also a conversation that required sobriety.

_”You don’t understand what you’re facing”_

Regulus had said it heavily, with the air of someone who knew more than he could ever possibly disclose. Sirius, however, knew that feeling, and he was very bloody stubborn. They’d had a row about it, of course. It wasn’t the usual sort of row brothers might have; it was devoid of any brawling or having a go at one another the way he and James’ might have. What he felt for James, however, was the opposite of _brotherly_ so the comparisons were rather null. In the end, Regulus acquiesced to him going, but still didn’t tell him anything. They’d gone once they were both settled in terms of what they’d need provision-wise, which was apparently very little. Two days after his brother arrived at Spinner’s End, they left together. Sirius wished he could have tacked a _’never to return’_ to the end of all of it, but that remained to be seen.

The journey beyond the cliff was cold and unpleasant.

They’d gone in the morning, but it might as well have been night for all the light that seemed to hit at any angle beyond the cave mouth, which was like a black gash torn from the rock face about it. The waves were high and unforgiving; the sound of them blocked out all noise that might have otherwise filtered in from the outside world. It was rather like stepping into an entirely different realm...and not a pleasant one. Beyond the entrance to the cave-which was treacherous and chock full of slippery rocks-the darkness was absolute. Not even the strongest ‘ _lumos_ ’ shed much light onto the space around them. The crystals, thankfully, seemed to bizarrely absorb _some_ of that light and reflect it back; but the manner in which they reflected it was so alien it took Sirius several minutes to get used to it.

“Don't you think” he remarked at length. “That keeping me in the dark is far more risky at this point?”

“No” was the short and immediate response. It echoed but fell simultaneously dull on the salt crystals around them.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s aught to see here,” Sirius groused, raising a hand to scrub it through the stubble that’d been slowly forming over his cheeks during the weeks in Snivellus’ ugly hovel. It was itchy, at this point, but he’d not thought to shave it before they went.

“Oh, there is,” Regulus said darkly. “It just feels too simple.”

“You going to clue me in-” the older wizard broke off as his brother pulled what appeared to be a pocket knife out of his robes. “-What’re you- _oi!_ ”

Regulus struggled when he grabbed the hilt of the blade, or, rather, the hand over the hilt. Really, he nearly gouged Sirius’ eyes out before he wrestled it away from him. He was bigger, but the older wizard was more used to physically fighting for anything and everything. By the time they both settled he was being given one of those wild-eyed, barmy looks again that he really didn’t fancy at all.

“A blood sacrifice is required” Regulus spat, somewhat out of breath.

“Yea?” Sirius grunted, tucking the knife into his pocket and trading it for his wand. “There’s easier ways to do that you know.” Before there was time for any sort of retort, he hiked up his sleeve and flicked his wand at the outside of the opposite arm. Ignoring the pain and the rush of warmth that came from the spill of blood, he pressed it against the spot Regulus had been eyeing. “Bloody Muggle thing to do” he grouched as the stone bled away to reveal an entrance. _”Knives.”_

_”Episkey.”_

The healing spell was somewhat of a surprise; Sirius watched as the wound he’d inflicted upon himself mere moments before healed as if it were never there. There was silence for a short stretch of time, during which Regulus wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, the younger wizard pushed forward into the darkened space, muttering a tight _’lumos maxima’_ as he did so. Sirius didn’t offer thanks...he didn’t think it would be much appreciated. Instead, he followed his brother through...acknowledging distantly when the entrance behind them sealed almost immediately as he did so. He kept going only to run straight into Regulus, who hissed and shoved him backward.

There was a lake before them.

Indeed, it was such a vast lake that it was almost impossible to tell where it might lead...or if it had an end. There was no point in straining his eyes to see if there was anything there...he could barely see the black water rippling inches away from Regulus’ trainers. He was-almost immediately-given the impression that under _no_ circumstances should he put a single finger in the water. Such an impression didn’t come from the Sirius part of his noggin as much as it came from the Padfoot part.

“The water feels...wrong” he remarked, and again his voice felt echoing but at the same time dull in nature. When Regulus did nothing but grunt in return, he returned his focus to the lake. “D’you reckon there’s something out there?”

“I _know_ there’s something out there” was the dark reply. “There’s a way to get out there too.” A pause, and though Sirius was dying to ask questions, he restrained himself...though with difficulty. “Kreacher told me” was the eventual continuation. “That’s all I’m willing to tell you.”

“Wait a minute” Sirius muttered, watching as the younger wizard began to search about the rocks for...what, he couldn’t really say, nor did he know. “Are you saying that you’re doing this based on a tip that wretched-”

-He broke off because Regulus’ wand was suddenly dead center his chest. It was a noticeable gesture not merely due to the pressure but due to the fact that half the light illuminating the cavern-which was ultimately very little-suddenly went out.

“Be very careful what you say next” was the hissed retort. “ _Very_ careful.”

Sirius scoffed.

“Oh, of course, forgot you had a soft spot for that piece of vermin-”

“-I _said_ shut it!” the wand pressed harder. You’ve _always_ treated Kreacher terribly. It’s why he hates you, you know. He didn’t ask to be in service to-”

_”That speck of offal is the reason I-!”_

Sirius broke off at the last second, caught himself on the word _’died’_ and closed his mouth so hard his teeth rattled. He wanted to say more, almost felt like he _needed_ to, but the nasty voice-a _bloody nasty voice_ -in the back of his mind slithered forward to whisper _’is he really though...is he **really?**_ ’...and he could not shove it off. It was true, he hated Kreacher, and it was more than true that Kreacher had become a sneaking, slinking, lying piece of shite by the time he fed Harry false information. That much he’d been able to piece together on his own, before his death. Harry would have called...and Kreacher would have been the only one to answer faster than he could have...and it had cost him _everything._

But he had told Kreacher to get out.

And before that, he’d been as nasty as to be downright tyrannical to Kreacher. He’d made no effort to know him or get in his good graces...or even perhaps figure out what the devil happened to Regulus. He hadn’t _cared_ enough to ask, because Azkaban had twisted him so, and having to return to Grimmauld Place had twisted him even more. Stepping backward, he flinched as his foot hit on something that appeared to be a chain leading down into the water. Looking at it more closely, it appeared to be a chain of a strange, unearthly make...or perhaps made of the same rock in the walls of the cavern about them...possessing that luminescent yet not luminescent glow. The minute Reglulus noticed what he was looking at, his focus shifted to it. The wand dropped, and though neither of them exchanged any words, it was mutually understood that the topic was to be dropped. Instead, both of them focused on dragging the chain out of the water...hand over hand...passing the links to one another even as a dark shape rising from the depths became apparent.

It was a boat.

A _very small_ boat...though not so small that they couldn’t make it work. Surveying the vessel, Sirius reflected that they’d fit themselves into broom cupboards rather smaller in order to avoid Walburga. Getting in and out of it would be a trickier task than staying in. Regulus seemed to be of the same mind, and they had a brief debate over who would take the bow before it was decided that Sirius would, since he was lighter...and since Regulus seemed to know more about the nature of the cave and their ‘mission’ overall, and would therefore need to see less. They had to figure out a rather complicated methodology of embarking and disembarking. Twice, they nearly capsized, and each time the sight of that icy...blackened water coming nearer and nearer brought such a sensation of _terror_ to Padfoot he had to sit down and take deep breaths. Regulus didn’t ask, during such times, what was wrong, and he was grateful.

It took a good fifteen minutes to figure out a way into the boat that wouldn’t potentially drown them. Once they did, however, the boat took off on its own. Really, it _lurched_ forward dangerously and the sound of surprise Regulus made was so high-pitched Sirius wanted to rankle him about it but didn’t have the stomach for it. Really...as the shore back to what he assumed was safety got further and further away…’till it was swallowed up in the blackness-which did not take that long, considering the overall darkness-he felt more and more in over his head. He didn’t _know_ what he was walking into. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was supposed to be looking _for_. The boat seemed to have a mind of its own, however. There were no oars, no method for anyone to steer save the boat itself...and perhaps it was for the best. The black waters below them-illuminated only by the light from their wands, high overhead-seemed to dance in a kind of onyx eeriness. Every so often, he thought he caught a glimpse of a pale shape beneath the waves, but it was never close enough for him to tell what it was. Something in him whispered that he likely didn’t want to know.

“You’re not of age” Sirius remarked at some length, when the silence became too much. “I shouldn’t have let you drink so bloody much the other night.”

Regulus didn’t reply immediately, and he sensed that his silence was more that of incredulity than flat-out ignoring him.

“Sirius, Mum’s been letting us drink table wine since we were ten” was the strangled response.

“Still, bad form as the elder brother...even if absent...letting you get absolutely pissed.” When there was no response forthcoming, he continued. “No wonder the family never wanted me around you, I’d have corrupted you to your innocent pureblood core.”

“You know why the family doesn’t like you” Regulus muttered.

“Because I inherited looks three generations gone and you’re all ulgy as sin?”

The look Sirius received in return was nothing short of frigid.

“It’s because you don’t bloody involve yourself, Sirius. You never have, even before.”

“Rubbish” the older man snapped, rounding on his brother and stabbing him in the chest with his index finger. The boat continued to sail onward...unmanned but purposeful. “When I was-” he broke off and swallowed. “-I _know_ you remember how bloody hard I tried to get in Mum’s graces...to earn Dad’s effing favor. Never did me any good, did it? Said I was trying too hard, sommat wrong behind it, didn’t they?” He laughed, but it was ugly and bitter. “And _then_ , when I stopped trying, I was putting on airs.” Regulus looked pained but he ignored it. “So you can say I didn’t try, but we both know that’s a lot of tosh.”

Regulus was silent and he tried to find some petty triumph in the fact that _he’d_ silenced him, but he couldn’t. He’d turned around again by the time he responded, and when he did...there was some regret but also some accusation in his tone.

“You could have tried with me.”

The comment was so quiet he barely heard it, but when he did, his shoulders drooped.

“I know that, Reg,” he said heavily. “And I am sorry, but by the time it was clear that you needed me, I didn’t have anything left to give.”

If Regulus had intended to respond, he wasn’t given the opportunity. This was mostly because the boat abruptly began to slow down. Its nautical pace dropped to a crawl until a haphazard and strange shape became apparent before them. Further observation gave light to the fact that it was an island, though a small one. The stones it appeared to be made from were similar to the salt crystals on the cave walls...he imagined that they would be slippery and hard to find a grip on. At the center of the island was a small dias...atop which was resting what appeared to be a bowl and another item he could not discern from a distance. By the time they came to...well, it wasn’t exactly a shore. The boat knocked gently against the side of the island and he could see from his vantage point that it was a small goblet, though strange looking, and wrong feeling...like everything else in the cave.

The feeling of wrongness here, however, was stronger than it had been anywhere else.

Sirius left the boat first and slowly, taking his time to find a good foothold before waiting below the dias for Regulus to join him. Glancing at him surreptitiously, he was disheartened to see that the younger wizard looked absolutely grim. They ascended the brief upward slope together, both lost in the oppressive atmosphere of the cave and whatever might have been waiting for them in the bowl. As one...they looked, and as one they looked at one another, and then at the glass on the side.

“So…” Sirius said lightly, in a pathetic attempt to diffuse the tension. “Never thought the Dark Lord had a side gig of making hidden punches.”

Regulus ignored him entirely, preferring instead to draw his wand and flick it at the green, strangely bioluminescent mixture within. For all intents and purposes, it did appear to be some type of potion...though the likelihood of it being a punch was next to nothing, if not beyond nothing. The bowl made a strange...hollow humming sound at Regulus’ gesture, and the potion wavered as if under a strange enchantment but otherwise did not respond. Bending his head to sniff, Sirius could detect no odor coming from it...nothing distinct in any case.

“Listen to me.”

The tone of Regulus’ voice was so harsh it commanded all of his attention immediately. Sirius looked up, and his heart dropped into his stomach to see that mad, somewhat unhinged look on his brothers’ face again.

“You know it has to be drunk,” Regulus continued.

“I’ll do it,” Sirius volunteered immediately.

“ _No,_ you won’t.”

“Reg-”

“-I’m a Death Eater, Sirius” was the snapped response. “If what I think is in the bottom of this basin is there, I don’t have a _chance_ come the next Gathering. I’m a dead man walking. You have more agency, more freedom, and I know it’s not a lot right now, but it’s rightly better than mine. Don’t be noble when being noble is liable to get us all killed.”

“Regulus,” Sirius said desperately. “I’m not that important.”

“I didn’t say you were important” was the snapped reply even as Regulus snatched up the cup and filled it. Some of the green potion slipped over the edge...and they both watched as it rose...immediately, into the air only to deposit itself back into the basin. “I said you had agency where I don’t. And, as soon as you can, look up the term _’Horcrux’_...and get rid of it.” Hesitating, the younger wizard fixed Sirius with an uncertain look before continuing. “If you can’t save me, don’t play the bloody hero.”

By the time Sirius made a lunge for the cup, Regulus was already drinking.

It was the most helpless feeling in the world.

Watching as the younger man finished the first glass in one fell swoop, paused to grimace and then went in for another, Sirius reflected that he had never felt like he had _less_ agency. He may have neglected Regulus before, but that had never meant he stopped caring. At once, he was accosted with a sense of deja vu that didn’t feel like it really belonged to him. For one, hysterical moment he wished that James were there, because he would know what to say to make him feel better...but he couldn’t keep relying on James to keep him looking forward. He couldn’t think of James at all, really, as Regulus was on his fourth cup.

Familiar yet not familiar hands were bone white and he appeared to be shaking. It seemed to take him forever to finish that one...and by the time he did he seemed to be fighting himself to take another. It took another full cup before Regulus was slumped over the basin, clearly trying not to lose focus. By the fifth...his pupils were dilated and he was mumbling frantically under his breath. Sirius wished, somewhat desperately, that he had fought harder to drink the potion. He could have easily pried the goblet from Regulus’ hands, but it was too late at that point...and it was clear that the potion was compromising. If one of them wasn’t of sound mind, it would be impossible to make it out of the cavern.

By the eighth cup, Regulus had slumped to the ground and was clearly incapable of getting up again, but the basin was empty. Peering inside, Sirius caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a necklace of some type; ornate. He’d picked it up to look at it...and that feeling of terrible, unearthly strangeness intensified to the point where all the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

...Then Regulus started to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sorry if this is kind of #$%! my British jargon instructor was disappointed in me with this chapter.  
> *I don't know much about Regulus' relative age at this point, so he's underage.  
> If there are errors I will get to them early tomorrow, though I have looked over this thoroughly.  
> A cliffy, nifty.  
> Thank you for reading, thoughts are appreciated, of course.

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** I'll be staying in this fandom for a while just because I relate to Sirius and his giant spiel of tragic bad decision with good intentionism right about now. So you've probably noticed the pairing change; yes, I know. But I can't do it, guys. I wouldn't be able to finish this if I kept the pairing. I am hardcore Prongsfoot. I have been converted to the dark side. I want to say that if you stick around for this revision I am not going to stomp all over the characters you love, I promise. I will treat them right, because believe it or not, I love them too. But yes this is happening, and no I'm not going to walk away from this. Updates every week. 
> 
> I don't use Tumblr or LiveJournal because I can't navigate them without feeling like I've slugged a gallon of whiskey and tried to row a boat in the middle of a hurricane, so info on my reasonings for repost is minimal. ~~**Edit:** I do have tumblr, I just don't use it very much save for OC shitposts, but I'm considering using it for update notifactions. Updates on weekends formulatively, I'm having trouble juggling work. [see: working obsessively].~~ **Edit 2:** Most of my media is being compressed between here and DA at this point; so no Tumblr.


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